Set Fire to the Rain
by The-Ironborn
Summary: You don't become the Greatest Bounty Hunter in the Galaxy without making a few enemies... Set between the Trilogies.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first attempt at a fanfiction in a while. I'm currently working on an original novel and wanted something else to write casually on the side. Fanfiction seemed like a perfect outlet. Curiously, I also felt like sharing.

This fic is set in-between the two trilogies, covering some of the time that George Lucas has purposely left untouched in the hopes of a television series (fingers still crossed). I have been a fan of the saga for years and have only just started to delve into Expanded Universe, so my knowledge of Expended Universe is limited and certainly not perfect. So if you're a stickler for Expanded Universe details, this may not be the fic for you.

I chose to focus on the Adventures of Boba Fett, since I think the character is great, and because the idea was there for me. Since I'm writing this as an aside from my novel, I don't have a specific direction set yet, but we'll see how one evolves as we go along.

Credits to Lucasfilm for Star Wars, and the makers of 'The Social Network' for their tagline.

Thanks for taking the time to open up the first chapter, enjoy.

* * *

Feeling too small for his armor, Boba Fett entered the great hall of a Hutt Crime Lord cautiously. His armor provided him a level of mystique he hadn't felt in a long time and didn't quite remember accurately. Led by a sleazy Rodian into the filled room, Fett tried to rediscover the confident step that had made him a respected bounty hunter in years past. Still, the anticipation of a new hunt, and the anxiety of a new place put a caution in his step that was more nervous than he would have liked. Those with no homes could walk anywhere with confidence; as one who had just left one behind, he walked with caution.

This was to be Fett's first bounty since he had left his wife and daughter.

Greasy swoop and pod racers turned to catch a glimpse of the bounty hunter, who had made a name for himself before trying to retire to an honest living three years previously. Gaudily-garbed gangsters tried to pretend not to be even slightly intimidated. For even though he didn't feel like his old self again, the Mandalorian still cut an intimidating figure in mixed company. He approached the slimy Hutt without changing pace.

"My Lord," cooed the Rodian to the Hutt, who seemed more preoccupied with the Twi'lek slaves atop his dais than anything else. "This bounty hunter wishes to take on the bounty of Silirio Varr, the smuggler."

The Hutt seemed to hardly care, which was not entirely unexpected. Crime Lords such as these usually didn't care who did the job, just so long as it was done. He waved the both off in acknowledgement and the Rodian bowed while retreating backwards. Fett took a much less pathetically obedient exit. He wasn't the pet of this Hutt after all, just a simple man trying to make a living. He moved off to the side, sidling his way past the racers and other riff-raff crowded in the audience chamber. But something caught Fett's eye. Standing off to the side of the Hutt was another armored figure. Straight and imposing, standing out from everyone else in the room, the other was clearly some sort of assassin or guard, perhaps even another hunter.

The armor was not dissimilar to his own, though clearly not of direct Mandalorian origin, and it was the colour of blood. Fett didn't usually stop to look at others, but did stop to observe the armored figure, as if to measure him. Likewise, the armored figure measured him equally. Fett could feel his eyes scraping him up and down, as if taking in every detail, even when neither could see the other's face. A curious sort of mutual respect passed between the two, then both turned their attention towards other business.

"He's intimidating, isn't he?" said a voice to Fett's side.

Fett turned towards the source of the voice, a Twi'lek biker with an ugly scar across one eye. "Who?" Fett asked, thinking his voice sounded strange within the confines of his helmet.

"Torsch, the bounty hunter," replied the Twi'lek. "Boss only sends him on the best missions, likes to keep him here. It entertains the crowd, and probably keeps 'em from bringing trouble."

"What do you know about him?" Fett asked. He'd never heard of a bounty hunter called Torsch before.

"Nothing, 'sides that. Haven't even seen what's really under the mask. He has an assistant though. A little wisp of a girl, name's Meela. Don't know too much about her either, come to think of it. I think she's an agent, or personal assistant. Some even say she's his lover, but who really knows? She comes around here sometimes though… fun to talk to… nice to look at too."

Fett had an idea that the Twi'lek might have continued talking forever. These racer-types, they were so difficult to deal with. Give them something to talk about and you could go an hour without getting a word in edgewise. Fett simply nodded and pushed his way through the crowd. The Twi'lek's attention was soon on someone else. Even through his helmet, Fett was beginning to smell the grime in the air. Wanting to get out and set to work on his bounty, he pushed his way out of the entrance hall. Glancing back at the dais, he saw the Hutt with his Twi'leks, but, more importantly, that the red armor was gone.

xxx

Boba Fett took off his helmet as soon as he entered his ship. The Slave I had been closer to home than anything else over the years. It was among the only familiar things left from his childhood and one of the only consistencies in his life. He was not a sentimental man, but he had not been able to part with the ship, even if he could have used the money as he tried to make it as a family man. It was a good thing he'd kept it too, since that idea had fallen through. Settling himself in front of the main computer, he punched in various information about his target.

Silirio Varr was a smuggler, who had apparently double-crossed the Hutt who'd hired him by violating a promise to trade exclusively. What cargo he carried and what his story was didn't matter. He was worth credits, and that's all Fett needed to know for the time being. Silirio had violated a documented promise and so bringing him before the Hutt was within reason. The smuggler frequented Nar Shaddaa, and that would probably be a good place to start, since he was due back any day.

Suddenly, Fett felt suffocated by his armor. Quickly, he removed his breastplates and shrugged off the jetpack, laying them on the floor beside him. With uncharacteristic stress showing on his face, Boba Fett leaned all the way back into the pilot's seat, covering his face with his hands. As much of a rush he could get out of the hunt, returning to this life was certainly not what he had wanted. Living from day to day, and moving from place to place, wherever the work was, unable to settle, it unnerved him, but at the same time, he had found himself unhappy in settling. It had made him restless, and impulsive. It made him do things he ordinarily wouldn't and say things he didn't mean. He had said so many things. He wasn't exactly a man built for regret, but he did regret some of the things he had said. But what was said was said, and he wasn't the type to take back what had already been done.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for the main controls. Starting up the launch process, he carefully navigated the ship out of the atmosphere. It was second nature for him now, since he'd done it so many times. It was just another reminder of how nomadic of a lifestyle he really led. Engaging the hyperdrive, he punched in the coordinates of Nar Shaddaa. Now was the hardest part, waiting. Plans weren't hard for people like this. Smugglers usually weren't tough without their ships to hide behind, so bringing them in was usually easy. It was a pathetic bounty for someone of Fett's skill really, but it had been the only thing he'd really be able to get. Apparently leaving the occupation for three years hadn't boded well for a future career back in the business.

Luckily, there were crime lords everywhere who had bounties they didn't want to waste their best men on. Clearly this bounty had been too good for Torsch, otherwise there wouldn't have been a posting for it. Fett did a lot of pondering over the red armor. It was hard to think of the figure as anything else. Was that how other people saw him? It couldn't have been. Fett remembered his father in full armor; he had never felt like it was simply a suit of armor staring back, not like he had with the red warrior. He knew there was someone inside the red armor, and that the person inside had been watching him, but there was an emptiness to the armor. It was as if he needed proof that there was someone else inside: to hear a voice or to meet in battle.

He ate, slept awhile, and thought some more. It was only about twelve hours through hyperspace to Nar Shaddaa, a short trip compared to others, but it left the hunter with more free time than he really wanted. Free time meant time to reflect, and reflecting was not something Boba Fett particularly wanted to do. He didn't have too many good things to reflect on recently, and dwelling on them did not make them go away. He knew he didn't deserve the ease of mind he wanted. He had done wrong, behaved unjustly and in ways he wished he hadn't, so he deserved every minute of the guilt, even though he would have gone to great lengths to rid himself of it.

He tried to think about something else: the upcoming mission, points in his training he may have overlooked since his… hiatus from bounty hunting, even the Red Warrior. The Red Warrior, frankly, intrigued him more than the actual mission at hand. The Red Warrior was doubtless competition. Fett combed through his brief memory of the Red Warrior, trying to think of a weakness. Weaknesses weren't easy, since he'd never seen the warrior fight. The armor was far different from his own, and from what he had observed, which, granted, hadn't been much, he couldn't locate a chink in the armor. The real weakness, as Fett knew all too well, lay behind the mask.

Fett steeled himself as the surface of Nar Shaddaa appeared through the windows.

* * *

A/N: Voila! There you have my first attempt at writing this character, though he's a very different person from how we're accustomed to seeing him. He's no longer the boy from 'Attack of the Clones' and 'Star Wars: Clone Wars' but not yet the man from 'Empire Strikes Back'.

Please take a moment to review.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter! Seeing such a positive response to my first chapter left me really enthusiastic to continue, so I was able to very quickly crank out another, though I don't think my updates will ordinarily come this quickly.

Something I ought to elaborate on before we go any further is that, because this is set between the trilogies, in an era about which little has been written, there will be a host of OC's around (as well as some more familiar faces). Part of this is because I'm not necessarily knowledgable enough about some Expanded Universe characters yet to trust myself writing about them, and I always like to slip in some characters of my own into anything I write. It's basically a different crowd of bounty hunters and smugglers than we're used to, but if OC's really bother you, this might not be the fic for you.

A credit I forgot in the last chapter goes to Adele for the title. I was at a loss for a title and so I picked off of my iPod. Setting fire to rain sounded pretty badass so I thought it could work.

* * *

Finding Silirio Varr wasn't difficult. For being one who had double-crossed a Hutt, he certainly wasn't creative in his hiding places. In fact, he didn't seem to be hiding at all. It wasn't unheard of, for marks to be so easy to find. Some gave up at the first sign that they were being hunted, knowing that sooner or later, they were going to be caught, and that the longer they held out, the bleaker their fate would become. This mark was a smuggler, who probably did not want his business, and livelihood, destroyed by a simple contract violation. Once he was brought before the Hutt, Silirio would probably receive a slap on the wrist, and probably some penalties on future deals, and business wouldn't be as good as it'd once been, but he probably wouldn't be physically damaged.

Boba Fett had never really liked the easy jobs like this. They kept theoretical bread on his theoretical table (seeing as he didn't usually eat bread as it didn't keep well, and he didn't have an actual table), and fuel in his ship, but they were dull. Jobs like this were literally like picking up cargo. True, this cargo was living and usually had to be found, but didn't put up a fight once acquired. No matter how easy, or how well it paid, Fett didn't like it. It left him with too much time to think. He found it difficult to suppress his thoughts and feelings and concentrate fully on the mission when the mission required so little attention on his part.

He found Silirio lounging in a cantina on the Smuggler's Moon, perhaps the most obvious place for him to be. It was far from being the most luxurious and exclusive cantina on Nar Shaddaa, but Fett suspected that it was far from being the shadiest.

Silirio Varr came without a fight. Once he saw the bounty hunter, he knew it was over. He finished off his drink and came quietly, allowing binders to be put on without a struggle. "I was wondering who the Boss was going to send," Silirio said, a grim smirk settling on his face. Fett made no reply. Everyone in the cantina must have known about the bounty, since no one stirred from their drinks. A silence had descended over the dive, patrons curiously looking up from their drinks and their games to watch the mysterious bounty hunter make his pathetically easy catch. Several eyed the heavy blaster at his side, probably wondering how well he could handle it.

Fett led Silirio out of the seedy cantina, slipping a few credits to the bartender as a tip for his cooperation. The Slave I was docked only a short walk away, and the bounty hunter and his catch made the walk in silence. Once aboard, Fett removed Silirio's blasters and other effects before sealing him away in a prisoner holding cell. Silirio seemed calm and resigned, making Fett's job easy. "Guess I'm too easy for Red," Silirio said as Fett sealed up the energy shield on his cell. Though he was intrigued by the Red Warrior, he didn't make a habit of becoming familiar with his acquisitions.

Without a word, Fett climbed up into the cockpit of the Slave I. It wasn't the most conveniently or most efficiently designed ship, but it got the job done. It was an easily recognizable ship, and a notorious one. At this point in his career, the ship was probably more notorious than Boba Fett was. After all, it had belonged to his father, who had been a bounty hunter before him. Being on the ship, and wearing the armor, Jango's example was always before him, and it sometimes drove him to live up to his father's legacy. It motivated him and gave him some semblance of purpose besides simply making a living.

Settling into the familiar setting of the cockpit, Fett punched in the coordinates for Tatooine, where the Hutt Crime Boss was currently settled. There were several bosses on the planet of Tatooine, and from his understanding, the one he was now working for was fairly high on the ladder, though not quite on the top. It was the best he could do, considering that this was his first bounty since leaving the profession three years previously. For the moment, he was a complete freelance bounty hunter. He could take odd, low-caliber bounties that were too low for contracted bounty hunters like Torsch, the Red Warrior. Contracted hunters were employed by a single person or organization. They were given the best jobs for a pre-determined sum of credits and were often given a stipend for their off-time. Sometimes bounty hunters could be contracted for a single job, or for a pre-determined period of time. It depended on the hunter, and on the client.

Fett wanted to eventually get some contracts, though he didn't particularly want to be contracted on the long-term. Being the pet of a Crime Lord wasn't his idea of a promising career. There was money to be had in it, to be sure. Torsch almost certainly made a good living, but was probably obligated to live in the quarters the Hutt provided and was probably limited in what contracts he could take. As the ship entered hyperspace, Fett decided that he couldn't ever take a contract of that nature.

Once the ship was well on it's way, Fett moved into the ship's living quarters. The ship's systems would alert him if any problems arose while travelling through hyperspace. He removed his helmet and plates, his jetpack, guns and other effects, stowing them away carefully in their proper places. Bounty hunting was a job that often required large amounts of travel and a great deal of missed sleep. Fett always tried to get what sleep he could while in-transit, since down-time was sometimes hard to come by and when he actually had time to sleep, he often found that he couldn't. With ease, he climbed into the top bunk in the pilot's quarters. The Slave I was not built to sustain more than two persons at one time, not counting acquisitions, of course. Since he was a boy, Fett had always slept in the top bunk; his father had slept beneath. Like a sacred space, Fett left the bottom bunk untouched. It would just feel wrong to sleep there himself.

He pulled a light blanket over himself and fell into a restful sleep.

XXX

Approximately fourteen hours later, Boba Fett was leading his latest acquisition before his client. Though Silirio had been an easy catch and had offered absolutely no resistance, a ripple of whispers still went through the crowd, as all made their judgments on the newly-returned bounty hunter. Torsch was conspicuously absent from the Hutt's side, and the crowd seemed to have thinned a bit since Fett's last visit.

A Twi'lek was at the Hutt's side this time. The Rodian from the previous encounter was, distressingly, no where to be seen. It was said that Hutts could often be disagreeable and changeable, frequently going through their staff members faster than replacements could be found. "I see you have brought before us the smuggler, Silirio Varr. Excellent work. My master offers his thanks, as well as his promised reward of three-thousand credits," said the Twi'lek with an unwarranted amount of ceremony. The Hutt, once again, was too preoccupied with his more leisurely pursuits to even pretend to be paying attention to the transaction. Anything the Twi'lek said was merely on ceremony.

Fett nodded in response. With his reputation in serious need of rebuilding, fees were currently non-negotiable. Three-thousand credits wasn't bad for a small-time job like this. It might have been expected that Silirio would have put up more of a fight. Such was the unpredictability of smugglers. The Twi'lek grimaced at Fett's lack of response, but continued, "my master offers you his hospitality, and wishes you to stay and seek entertainment here. The master may have further work for you."

This was getting dangerously close to becoming a contract. Fett personally noted the absence of the Red Warrior, Torsch, once again. Though it was entirely likely and probable that the other hunter was simply on a job of his own or otherwise occupied, it also occurred to Fett that he might be a possible replacement. Surely a bounty hunter of the Red's caliber had other prospective clients, and possibly other offers, many of which would offer more desirable pay and lodgings. Despite this, Fett knew that it would be considered rude to turn down the invitation of the Hutt.

Fett nodded, this time saying "I accept." The more he spoke through his helmet, the more natural it felt. It still felt odd, like speaking into a bucket or tin can, but was becoming more natural again as time wore on. The armor, however, was another matter. During his three years away from bounty hunting, he had lost some of his physique, and the armor didn't fit quite as well as it had three years ago. It would need alteration if he couldn't regain the muscle he had lost, though it was likely that he would require alterations even if he did. That was probably what his bounty money would end up going towards this time around.

The Twi'lek stepped forward to complete the transaction and give Fett his well-earned credits. A Gammorrean guard took a silent Silirio away to whatever penalty awaited him. The crowd in the audience chamber went back to it's usual state. The sounds of music and chatter got loud once again as racers bragged about their latest runs and others groveled, seeking to gain favor with whatever higher-ups they could.

As Fett finished his dealing with the Twi'lek, another hush descended over the crowd. The crowd made room for a figure descending a side-staircase, which probably came from the living quarters or perhaps even from a side-entrance. Fett immediately turned his attention to the newcomer.

The newcomer, who was a woman.

* * *

A/N: No appearances for the Red Warrior today, though I must say he is causing my inner-Boba Fett a little bit of anxiety. Instead we have someone else making an entrance in this chapter. Their identity will be elaborated on more in the next chapter. I had intended to make this chapter a little longer, but wanted to post before I go out of town tomorrow.

Reviews would be lovely!


	3. Chapter 3

The woman who descended from the stairs was magnificently arrayed in a midriff-baring gown of scarlet, a sheer shawl tucked over one shoulder and trailing behind her. It could probably not hold a candle to some of the extraordinary clothes worn by the wealthy on planets in the Core Worlds, but it was certainly richer in appearance than anything else anyone in the establishment was wearing. Boba Fett was always trying to observe all he could of any persons-of-interest, and considering the stir this woman's entrance had made, she was certainly a person-of-interest. So he looked beyond the details of her clothing. She was a woman of no remarkable or exotic beauty; green eyes, fair skin and hair between blonde and brown, clearly human. She was obviously well-looked after, definitely not a common slave or servant; she was something more of a paid associate. Her physique was trim, indicating an active lifestyle, and her step seemed sure and purposeful.

Racers, smugglers and others stepped aside to allow her enough room to enter. Without the reservations the others seemed to have, she approached the dais of the Crime Lord. "Ah, Meela," the newly-hired Twi'lek majordomo greeted her. "I assume you come on your master's behalf." Fett's suspicions were confirmed; this was Meela, whom he had learned was an associate of Torsch. It hadn't been a difficult assumption to make, considering that Meela wore a similar shade of red to the armor, and that she had a high degree of respect amongst the crowd.

Meela smiled warmly. "Yes," she replied silkily. "I am bid to your Master that the bounty hunter, Torsch, is making preparations for the job on Ord Mantell. We are expected to depart later this evening, and our estimate return shall be in five days. We will send a transmission should anything change." She spoke with the utmost formality. It was almost overkill, given the present company.

"The Master thought you might join us, while the bounty hunter is away," suggested the Twi'lek.

"No," replied Meela. "As always, my presence is required on this mission, otherwise I would be pleased to remain amongst the present company."

"A pity." The Twi'lek then returned his attention to Boba Fett. "Meela, might I introduce Boba Fett? He just collected the bounty on Silirio Varr."

Meela turned to him. "I am bid to congratulate you on your acquisition, and to offer the best of luck in the future."

Fett assumed, judging by Meela's obvious formality, that she would stop there, but she didn't. Instead, she stepped towards him; her eyes looked him up and down. Then she did something even more bizarre; she circled him. Fett remained motionless. He could feel her eyeing him up and down as if he were a cut of meat. Of course, since he was hidden behind his armor, there wasn't too much for to see. "Well, well," she said. "A bit overdressed for a small-time bounty hunter, a bit conspicuous too. Besides, we don't need two gentlemen in armor around here, though, for all we know, you could very well be a woman under there!" Her final comment seemed to satisfy the crowd, and was met with hearty laughter. Under the helmet, Fett felt slightly humiliated. By suggesting that he might be a woman, she had also suggested weakness, and by comparing him to her associate, she further suggested that Fett was merely a cheap imitation.

"But forgive my rudeness," she continued, a satisfied-looking smile on her face. "I am used to working with armored bounty hunters. It can be a little trying at times. All the same, let me know if you'd like work." She then retreated off to the side of the room to join a group of smugglers with whom she chatted. Amongst the dirty and rag-tag bunch, she looked out-of-place. While Hutts were rich crime lords with a taste for the finer things, their entourages typically were not. Fett made his own retreat to the other side of the room. Seeing as he couldn't refuse the Hutt's invitation to stay, he did not bother trying to leave the room. Instead, he found a quiet corner and stationed himself there, observing the people he could.

Observing the occupants of the room turned out not to be such an interesting task. Just about all the people in the audience chamber were unremarkable; simple smugglers seeking assignment or racers trying to gain the notice and patronage of the Crime Lord. Out of the corners of his HUD display, Fett would catch a flutter of scarlet. Instinctively, he would turn towards the source of the bright color. It was just Meela, fluttering from group to group like some garishly colored bird. Her carriage was more graceful than anyone else in the room, and her movements had dignity that suggested that she originally came from a much more civilized place than Tatooine.

She was several inches shorter than Fett, and several pounds lighter, average for a human female according to the HUD inside his helmet. Given her feminine dress and lack of a weapon, she seemed delicate, even fragile. Fett could have taken one hand around her neck and strangled her as compensation for her humiliation of him. Other bounty hunters certainly would have, but Fett was a man of some semblance of principles, even for a young bounty hunter. He would not hurt an unarmed combatant, particularly a woman, even if she'd slightly humiliated him in front of a potential client.

XXX

The day wore on into evening, and Meela excused herself from the company of the Hutt and his guests, who seemed very disappointed by her departure. Fett guessed that it probably wasn't her conversation they were going to miss, seeing as she was one of the only females in the estate besides the Hutt's slaves, who were more than likely off limits to everyone else without expressed permission. She left up the staircase she came down from. Once she was gone, the atmosphere of the room became a little rowdier. It was clear that most of the Hutt's guests were on their best behavior around the bounty agent, whether it was because they feared her associate or because it was her favor they sought.

Fett was offered food some time later, but declined, despite the hollow he felt in the pit of his stomach. He was unwilling to remove his helmet in the present company, or any company for that matter, and asked that food be brought to his room when he retired for the evening. He said this, trying to get the Majordomo to show him exactly where his lodgings were going to be, but was unsuccessful. Frustrated, he leaned casually against the wall, growing impatient with waiting in the Hutt's court. True, it meant free meals and lodging for a few more days, but something about the place smelled rank and the people were the sort of uninteresting slime Fett instantly disliked. They had no semblance of honor, but were content to scrape by, surviving on the whim of a Hutt Crime Lord.

Perhaps he should have asked Meela for work. She had seemed to be a bounty agent of sorts, and she had offered her service. Surely the Red Warrior received work that he couldn't take, and Meela seemed willing to pass it along. However, the hour was growing later, and the suns were going down. Surely, she and the Red Warrior would be bound for Ord Mantell by now. Fett wondered to himself what kind of job it was that the Red was embarking on, and why he needed his bounty agent. Though it occurred to Fett that she could prove useful in a negotiation, particularly with the generally uneducated populace of Ord Mantell.

He was sweating from the heat. Tatooine was hot enough, but in a large room packed with so many people, and a Hutt besides, with no efficient ventilation, it was a wonder no one had collapsed from the heat. Fett wanted to just return to his ship, eat a hot meal and perhaps check the engine and hyperdrive before settling down for an early sleep. He would have returned the next day to seek new work. But now that he had been invited, he couldn't refuse. Refusal would have insulted the Hutt, who, like most of his species, believed everyone to be completely dependent on them. It was a simple existence Fett wanted, not all this bowing and scraping that seemed to be the norm in this miserably hot estate.

Desperate to get out of this room and away from these people, Fett grabbed the arm of the Majordomo when he passed, making his rounds around the room. "I'd like to retire for the evening," Fett said bluntly.

The Twi'lek Majordomo looked positively affronted by Fett's bluntness, but immediately nodded in understanding. "Certainly," he responded. "You must be exhausted from your journey. My apologies. Take the stairs and turn left, it's the second room on the right. Enjoy your stay. Shall I send a girl for you?"

Fett was shocked at the Twi'lek's offer, which seemed to come completely naturally. Under his helmet, he could feel his face turn red at the idea. He hadn't had a woman since his wife, and even now he couldn't betray her. "That won't be necessary," he sputtered out awkwardly.

The Twi'lek simply shrugged. "Suit yourself," he replied, then set himself to whatever business he had been doing in the first place.

Fett would have excused himself, but no one seemed to really notice his presence. He merely wandered up the stairs, being careful not to hit his head on the ceiling. Relieved to be out of the crowded room, which was beginning to get rowdier as the evening wore on, Fett found his allocated room. He preferred his own lodgings on his ship, but sometimes it was nice to spend some time planet-side. There was more space and sometimes the beds were more comfortable.

Letting himself in, he quickly shut the door behind him. Turning away from the door, he moved to take his helmet off, but stopped dead, mouth hanging open. He wasn't alone. But the person in the room with him was not another bounty hunter, or even one of the Hutt's slave girls. It was Meela. She was completely naked, or at least he assumed she was, and she was tucked into his bed. "I've been waiting for you," she said in a low velvety voice.

"Clearly," he coughed out awkwardly. At nearly twenty years old, Boba Fett had received his share of offers in the past, but for the better part of the past three years, he had been a married man. He and Sintas were separated, and it didn't seem likely that they would be reuniting any time soon, but it still felt like he was betraying her somehow.

Meela raised her eyebrows expectantly. Fett realized he was caught staring. "What are you doing here?" he asked, slightly flustered, having not expected to be in this situation today. "I thought you were leaving."

"I am leaving," she replied. "But right now, I'm offering to sleep with you before I leave. I get rather lonely in hyperspace."

"Sorry to disappoint you," he replied, regaining his composure. "But I'm not interested. I want to go to bed."

"Oooohhh, I understand" she said, grinning. "Don't worry. You wouldn't be my first virgin." She sat up, holding the blanket to her chest with one hand, though it slipped lower on her chest. Fett wouldn't say he didn't notice it, but he tried his best to keep his eyes on her face.

"No, it's not that," he admitted. Interested or not, he still had his pride as a man, and he wasn't about to let this bounty agent, who'd already embarrassed him once today, make a fool of him again, even in private. "It's just… I'm…. It's complicated." He wasn't about to tell this complete stranger about all his issues.

She raised an eyebrow. "It's complicated? Seriously?" She regarded him carefully for a few moments. He looked right back at her through his HUD. He wasn't going to say that her offer wasn't appealing. It was, though Fett lacked the desire to go through with it. Had this encounter happened a little over three years ago, when he was still sixteen and single and quite a bit more reckless, he probably would have ended up accepting her pain of his separation from his wife was still fresh in his mind, and despite that, he still felt attached to her somehow. It wasn't necessarily that he really wanted her back. Their relationship had ended for a reason, and in retrospect, they were probably both better off, but that didn't mean he hadn't cared about her enough to remain loyal to her, even in the months following their separation.

He didn't say anything. He just stepped aside and indicated with one arm towards the door. She let out a frustrated sigh and slid out of his bed. Fett diverted his eyes to the floor out of respect, though she didn't seem to care very much. She crossed the room with absolutely no modesty to pluck a black robe off the back of a chair. "The offer's still open when I get back. The room at the end of the hall and to the left," she said as she slipped into the robe. Without another word, she exited the room.

Fett sealed the door behind her, locking it tightly this time. He could see that there was a plate of food left waiting for him, just like he'd asked. He took off his helmet, breathing deeply. The air was still foul-smelling, but at least it was better. Inside his helmet, the air tended to get extremely hot, making it even more unpleasant to breathe. He took a few bites of the food left out for him. It was bland, but at least it was something.

Exhausted, he removed the rest of his armor, stacking it neatly next to the bed, along with his weapons and other effects. He climbed into bed, finding it awkward that he could still smell Meela's perfume clinging to the blankets. He didn't care. He was too tired to do anything about it. As he went to sleep, his thoughts were with Sintas and their daughter Ailyn.

* * *

A/N: Twenty-year old Boba Fett sure is angsty. Poor guy has lots to angst about, I don't blame him.

Just some remarks... the garment Meela is wearing is something like an Indian Sari. On that topic, I picture the Red armor as being somewhat like Samurai armor, but with a helmet that more closely resembles a Mandolorian helmet, though the similarity is vague. Hope that might help anyone who's curious develop a mental image. I didn't know quite how to describe the Red's armor in-universe, since Samurai don't exist in this galaxy. The only description there is is that it's red, and that it's clearly not of direct Mandolorian origin. I felt like that was a bit of a cop-out on my part so I thought I'd provide some more here. The Red will be coming back next chapter.

All reviewers get blue milk and cupcakes!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to all who have reviewed so far! I really do appreciate it. That's probably why I've been able to write so fast on these first few chapters.

I will admit right now that I'm not entirely comfortable with this chapter. The action is a bit slower than I wanted and it almost feels like filler. I tried skipping to what I envision the next chapter as being, but it felt like something was missing. I also didn't feel as strong with the characters on this one, perhaps because there isn't a lot happening right now.

But the good news is that we see the return of the Red Warrior!

* * *

The five days of Torsch's bounty passed slowly. During this time, Boba Fett attempted to keep himself occupied. He made a few repairs to the Slave I using the credits he'd been paid with. He even cleaned it out. How he managed to accumulate so much random junk was beyond his comprehension. Somehow it all just ended up in the cargo hold. Impatient for more work, he tried to seek new bounties, but came up dry. After three days, he had resolved to ask Meela for work if he hadn't gotten something by the time she and the Red returned. She had offered to get him work, after all. Hopefully she'd be fully clothed this time.

The Hutt seemed to enjoy keeping a bounty hunter or two around, which Fett inferred must have been the reason for the extended hospitality. With the Red gone, the Hutt didn't have one on hand. Fett wasn't content to fill in for the Red, especially since he wasn't being paid to. However, by that logic, it would have been rude to leave before the Red returned. Such was the trouble of many bounty hunters; they were often subject to the whim of their clients. Fett was grateful at least that this particular Hutt didn't seem too demanding. Some of them, he knew, could be particular about the behavior of the hunters at their estates. This one seemed rather indifferent.

Besides the few hours he spent repairing and cleaning the Slave I, Fett's days were mostly comprised of lurking about the Hutt's estate, as was to be expected. Over the entire five days, there were a few interesting characters who passed through. There was a smuggler from Nar Shaddaa who told a dramatic tale of a run-in with Imperial Cruisers, and a Trandoshan who had gotten into a scrape with a rival group of smugglers. They told interesting stories, but had left again in a matter of days. From listening into the conversations held by some of these smugglers and their companions, as well as the racketeers and racers, Fett was able to discover that the Red had been in the employ of the Hutt Crime Lord for about six months, and that no one really knew where he came from. Some of them speculated Mandalore, but Fett disagreed, though he didn't say anything. The Red's armor wasn't Mandalorian in origin. It had some vague similarities, particularly in design of the helmet, suggesting that the helmet hadn't been made to match the rest of the armor, but was overall of a different culture. Speculation about the Red seemed to be a common topic of conversation when he and his assistant were absent.

Thus, the day the Red returned proved to be quite the spectacle. There was no warning and no announcement or ceremony. The Red simply entered the room, dragging a struggling Rodian by a chain. The crowd scrambled out of the way, clearly not eager to get close to either of them. Approaching the dais of the Hutt, the Red slammed the Rodian into the ground. "I bring before you the bounty hunter, Noordo, to answer for his deeds."

This time, the Hutt turned his full attention to the hunter and his prey. "Noordo, why do you pick off my smugglers? I thought you worked for ME!" exclaimed the Crime Lord, though in the slow, slurred speech of a Hutt. Everyone else in the room went dead silent.

The Red grabbed the Rodian's chain and tugged him up to look the Hutt in the face. The Rodian struggled, but the Red held firm. "Your pathetic smugglers circle the galaxy looking for a better deal. Why shouldn't I? Ever since you replaced me with the Red coward, I've been out of work. Picking off your smugglers pays well."

The Red jerked the chain at the Rodian's insinuation that he was a coward. "He doesn't show his face! What is he hiding?" This caused a wave of murmurings to pass through the crowds. Clearly this was something that no one had given too much thought.

"Take him away!" the Hutt demanded angrily. Two Gamorreans grasped the Rodian by both arms and dragged him out of the audience chamber. The Hutt clearly had more loyalty to his new favourite hunter than he did to one of his hunters from the past, particularly one who had betrayed him. Torsch remained in the center of the room. Fett took this time to observe the other hunter more carefully, and without being noticed. The Red's back was to him, so he could observe without the Red noticing. Torsch had a heavy blaster pistol strapped to his right leg. A long vibrosword was strapped to his back, accessible if he reached over the left shoulder. Besides these, he carried no other visible weapons, but Fett knew that any good bounty hunter always carried concealed weapons as well.

"Well, Torsch," said the Hutt. "Would you like to show us your face? Prove Noordo wrong?"

"This is my face," replied the Red. "More than whatever's underneath this helmet is." His voice clearly came through some sort of amplifier and processor, which was not to be unexpected, considering that the helmet he wore probably distorted and swallowed up his voice, just as Fett's did, which made some sort of microphone system essential. Despite the electronic cadence to the Red's projected voice, Fett could still detect the somber strain in the Red's voice.

"Torsch," the Hutt began again. "Let me apologize for Noordo's insinuations. Join us for banquet tonight. You'll have the place of honor. Tonight, we shall hear of how you captured the brigand."

"With all due respect, sir," the Red replied. "I have no talent for telling stories, or any interest in banquets. Besides, I have had an exhausting journey. Allow me to send my associate to regale you with the tale."

"Torsch, Torsch, when will you learn not to take yourself so seriously all the time?" The Hutt's tone suggested that this was not the first time the Red had turned down an invitation.

"When I no longer have to work," replied the Red, much to the satisfaction of the crowd.

"Very well," indulged the Hutt. "I will allow it."

"Thank you, sir."

"You are dismissed, Torsch."

Fett expected Torsch to retreat back to the living quarters, but he did not. Instead, Torsch turned straight towards him and approached. His gait was unapologetic and even a little militaristic. Torsch was a little smaller in build than Boba Fett, which Fett found surprising, as he'd expected the other hunter to be taller. Of course, that was the thing about armor. From a distance, impressive armor could hide things like height and size, making the wearer seem larger. "So you're the new blood?" the Red remarked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fett nodded. "New here, at least." In the presence of the other hunter, who he could tell was giving him a once-over behind the helmet, Fett stood up straighter. Bounty hunters were always competitive. The best hunter got the best jobs, and a lot of clients saw the best bounty hunter as the most powerful bounty hunter.

"About time the boss got another one. I can't take every job."

Before Fett could respond, the Red was already turning to leave. Fett felt pathetic and amateurish. Torsch had just gotten him into a vulnerable position, getting him to admit to unfamiliarity. What the Red's goal in the little exchange had been, Fett did not know. He probably just wanted to see how the other responded to direct conversation. Well, he'd probably got his answer. Fett mentally kicked himself, telling himself to watch what he said more carefully next time. Anything could be seen as a weakness.

Torsch made his way back out of the crowd, headed for the stairs to the living quarters. The audience chamber returned to life once more, as the occupants went back to their business. Fett couldn't help but notice that, oh his way out, Torsch stopped to admire on of the Hutt's slave dancers.

XXX

"… then Torsch activated his grappling hook and caught Noordo by the leg so that he was suspended from the side of the dock like a caught fish. After that, all it took was some careful maneuvering and we had him locked in the cargo bay. I swear, all that for 20,000 credits… we're not getting paid enough!" Meela had finished recounting the tale of Torsch's capture of Noordo to a banquet hall full of people. The meal had finished and smugglers, racers and gangsters alike listened to her tell the story. Boba Fett was seated a ways away from her, though could still hear her clearly through the amplifiers in his helmet. Fett could tell that the story was a bit of a fish tale, it grew more dramatic as the crowd egged Meela on.

The interesting part of Meela's telling is that she had actually been involved in the bounty. It made sense then, why Meela had been unable to stay at the Hutt's request. Torsch had needed her services as an amateur infiltrator. She was young, not ugly and decidedly feminine, even quite intelligent. All things considered, she was a very good distraction for would-be targets.

She was a semi-charismatic storyteller. The comprehensive abilities of the crowd made it difficult for her to really tell the story, since half the hall didn't understand basic well enough to really understand most of her speech, and about two-thirds of the occupants were, at the very least, buzzed, and some were already passed out on the table. Nevertheless, the end of her story was met with some light applause. Fett observed that she seemed to be quite the crowd-pleaser, though rarely giving a clue as to her real feelings. She doubtlessly had the most polished decorum of everyone present, and probably also won the award for being the cleanest.

Once the story was ended, all dispersed. Many returned to the main audience chamber, where the Hutt's slaves were being ordered to be charming and entertaining and perform a dance for their master. Fett hung back, wanting to catch Meela, purely for the purpose of asking her for work, though the image of her in his bed was still fresh enough in his memory to make him turn red under his helmet. He felt slightly pathetic, waiting to catch her attention again. It made him feel like a little boy trying to be noticed again, which was a feeling he certainly did NOT enjoy.

Meela, however, seemed certainly more interested in him than he'd anticipated. She joined him in an alcove in the main audience chamber. "My offer is still open, in case you were interested," she said. The expression on her face made it perfectly clear that she was not strictly talking about her offer to get him a job. Fett was thoroughly thankful he was wearing a helmet that covered his face.

"You said you could get me work," he replied bluntly.

She gave a disappointed little sigh. "Right, yes. I did, didn't I?" She leaned up against the wall and dug two fingers into a pouch that hung from her shoulder. She pulled out a handheld datapad, her expression suddenly turning very businesslike. "What kind of job do you want?"

"What've you got?"

"Well, I have a few on smugglers not paying their cargo… but I think you want something a little more exciting than that. You don't wear that armor for nothing." She looked up at him as if she were studying his face. Instead, she studied the outside of his helmet, though the way she looked straight at him, Fett almost thought that maybe she could see through his helmet. Then she looked back down at her datapad. "Here we go, I've got one on a murderer. It's on-planet, so you don't need to travel, but this guy's been hiding for a few months now. I'm sending it to you now."

A few moments later, the details of the bounty appeared in Fett's HUD. How she'd done that, he didn't quite know, but it figured, since she seemed to spend most of her time with another armored bounty hunter, that she would know how to send things directly without an access code. This bounty was certainly better than the last one he'd taken. The pay was better, and the mark would prove more of a challenge. He was a murderer, accused of killing several other smugglers and stealing their bounties. He was presumed to be armed and dangerous. However, compared to the story Meela had told over the banquet, this would have been too easy for Torsch.

"I'll take it."

"Good. Just bring him in here and I'll make sure you're paid in full." She made a note on her datapad then slipped it back into it's pouch. She looked tired up close. The journey from Ord Mantell must have been long for her as well as the Red. He had been able to opt out, but Fett sensed that Meela had not had so much choice in being here. Watching her through his helmet, he saw he look distractedly at the dancers on the floor. Their bodies glistened with oil and their garments barely covered them.

A few moments later, she snapped back into consciousness. "Well, if that's all you need from me, I think I will retire." Meela left the alcove and turned up the stairs. Fett watched her go, noticing that even though she ascended the stairs like anyone else, she almost seemed to be floating away. There was something forlorn about the way she left the rowdy audience chamber, something weighing her down. There was a slight limp to her step, one that he hadn't noticed before.

Fett himself retired shortly after. He ate a meal in his chamber, knowing that this was going to be the last night he stayed in it for the time being. The Hutt would doubtlessly invite him to stay again after he brought in his second bounty, but for now, he had begun to feel that he had outstayed his welcome. He undressed, used the rather spastic and changeable refresher, and got into bed in order to be well-rested for the next day. While laying there, trying to fight off his thoughts long enough to get to sleep, Boba Fett realized something. Meela had given him a job, but had made absolutely no mention of her own employer. Had she given him a bounty without permission? She seemed to be an agent that was under the employ of a hunter, rather than the other way around. Fett was grateful she'd gotten him work, but did hope she hadn't put herself at risk in doing so. She was, after all, the only person in the entire estate who had spoken to him on more than a formality in the past five days.

Fett told himself that she was not who he needed to be worrying about right now. Instead, he had a murderer to catch, and needed to do his best to not get killed while catching him. Then it also occured to Fett that if Meela had gone out of line, the Red might come after _him_ too, and that was something he'd rather not be dealing with right now.

* * *

A/N: Well that's that.

We've seen the Red Warrior return and Meela give Boba some work. I still can't refer to him by just his first name when I'm actually writing my chapters. It's the weirdest thing. Anyways, I hoped you enjoyed getting to know the Red and Meela a little better. We had Red's first dialogue in this chapter, and a bit of friendly competition set up. This is definitely a chapter I will look at rewriting later in the process, though for now it serves its purpose.

This time, reviewers get Mandalorian Ale, on the house.


	5. Chapter 5

Tracking a murderer who was in hiding was certainly more interesting than tracking down a smuggler who'd already given up. Boba Fett was able to start tracing the murderer using an account number that had been listed in the file Meela had provided. Given the Red's reputation, this job wouldn't have been a complicated one. However, it provided a greater risk, and therefore a greater adrenaline rush. All concerns that the Red might take offense to Fett taking a bounty, even a lower one like this, were dashed away by the thrill of the hunt. It was easy for a hunter to lose himself in the adrenaline of the hunt; forget absolutely everything and focus solely on the target. It was dangerous, because one could very easily lose everything while consumed by the hunt.

The murderer had used a credit chip tied to the account twice in the past week at a Mos Eisley Cantina. That meant that his hiding place wasn't too far away. Mos Eisley was only a short swoop ride from the Hutt's estate, and Fett figured that the Cantina would be a good place to start. The murderer he was looking for was a Weequay, and according to the profile that Meela's holochip had provided, he had also committed several petty crimes throughout the galaxy, and was certainly armed now.

The cantina was a rough one, though Fett had been in his share of rough cantinas for a young man of his age. Rough cantinas were an environment bounty hunters needed to be comfortable in. A lot of jobs came out of rusty, old cantinas, and a lot of marks sought shelter in them as well. Being able to deal with the kind of crowd they attracted was just a part of the job. Most of the occupants of the cantina kept to themselves when Fett entered, though there were a few curious glances thrown his way; such was the character of these places. Ask no questions; get no questions.

There were no Weequays in the bar, though Fett hadn't expected to just walk in and find his mark. That would have been far too easy. What he had come for was information. There was definitely going to be someone here who knew where the Weequay was hiding. That was the other thing about cantina patrons: they usually came back regularly, particularly on worlds like Tatooine. "Can I help you?" asked the bartender, a human. He stood defensively behind his bar. That was more like it. Fett's Mandalorian armor usually made such an impression. He had grown far to used to people thinking nothing of it. Most of the people he'd been around lately seemed less intimidated than usual, probably because they were used to another armored bounty hunter.

Fett settled himself in at the bar, merely a few feet from the bartender. "I'm here for information," Fett said.

The bartender leaned on the bar. "What kind of information?" he asked, lowering his voice so no one else would hear.

"I'm looking for a Weequay. I hear he's been in here a few times lately."

"I might have seen him."

"I need to know where he is."

"You with the authorities?"

"No."

"I don't want no trouble."

"Just tell me where he is, and there won't be." Fett smirked to himself under the helmet; the bartender was falling right into the trap.

"How do I know he won't kill you, come back to make trouble?" The bartender stood back up straight, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

"Just tell me where he is. I'll get him, take him in, and no one will give you any trouble. It's either me or the authorities, and I don't think the authorities will take to you harboring fugitives."

The bartender leaned back into the bar, close to Fett. "There are some caves, 'bout three klicks south of here. You can't miss 'em. I heard he's hiding out there with a few others. I'm not really sure who. I'd appreciate it if you'd get rid of them, I don't want them making trouble in my bar."

"I'll see what I can do," Fett said, nodding. "Thank you for your cooperation. For your trouble," he continued, slipping about ten credits to the bartender. Fett didn't really have too many credits to spare at the moment, but if this job paid off, he'd have enough to get situated on a less-remote planet and hopefully get better work. Hutts had jobs in abundance, but, being known for their greed, were known to occasionally short-change their hunters. Without another word, Fett made his way out of the cantina, avoiding incident and without slipping up again. He paused to pull up a map of the area in his HUD. There was some rocky terrain nearby, including a canyon, and some rocky plateaus. There would be plenty of caves. The trick would be finding the marks before they found him.

XXX

A few hours later, Boba Fett was preparing for the capture. After checking the entrances to several of the tunnels, he determined that there were only two that were potentially habited, one likely. There were footprints, and recent ones too, leading both in and out. There were multiple sets of footprints as well, belonging to at least three different people, as far as Fett could tell. Whether or not they were the people he was looking for was the only question left to be answered. He knew the dangers that lurked on Tatooine. Dangerous monsters hid in the caves, waiting for prey to be within reach. Even more dangerous were the Sand People, who would attack without provocation, and would fight with harsh brutality and impressive strength.

Naturally, there were also the fugitives who made the caves of Tatooine's canyons their home. The caves provided shelter from the shifting sands, a hiding place from whatever semblance of authorities the planet could come up with, and a strategic edge over any enemies. Anxiously, Fett checked his weapons again. His blaster pistols were fully loaded and in perfect working order, and he was already cradling his trusted heavy blaster at his side, ready for action. He checked his jetpack, though there would be no use for it in a cave.

Steeling himself for a fight, he made his way into the cave, using the 360 degree vision in his HUD to check behind him. There was no one following him, but he could now hear voices coming from inside the cave, amplified by his helmet. So unless there was another group hiding in the caves of Tatooine, three klicks south of Mos Eisley, Boba Fett had found his marks.

He proceeded with caution. The slightest noise, amplified by the acoustics of the cave, could alert them to his presence, and he would lose his competitive edge over them. Of course, even then he probably still had the advantage of being better prepared for a skirmish. Boba Fett was not a bounty hunter who relished the kill. There were lots of those in the galaxy, no more than murderers. Fett liked to think of himself as a bounty hunter of morals. The kill was not what he wanted. Sometimes, a job might end in it, but most marks were worth more alive, so they could be brought to whatever kind of justice the client saw fit, though sometimes that could also mean death. Boba Fett was unusual in that aspect, he didn't just bring in the acquisition alive because of the money; he actually preferred them alive.

As he crept closer to them, the familiar feeling arose in the pit of his stomach. He knew that it was pre-skirmish anxiety. No matter how skilled a bounty hunter got, they always felt something, whether it was a hollow in the pit of their stomach, or nervous tremors in one hand. Each job they took always carried the risk that they could be killed, or worse, maimed.

Then, he caught the light of their campfire against the walls of the cave, the firelight casting their shadows on the wall. They were just around the corner. Judging by the voices, there were three of them. One was definitely the Weequay, one might have been a Rodian, and the third Fett couldn't quite tell. He stood silently for a moment, bracing himself for what was about to happen. Readying his trusted heavy blaster, he stepped around the corner. "Don't move," he said. His tone carried more command than he'd heard it carry in months.

The three, the Weequay, the Rodian and a somewhat humanoid species that Fett didn't recognize (whatever it was, it was all human except the ears), stood. Clearly, they had expected someone to come for them eventually. They drew blasters. Great. Wonderful. Exactly what Fett had been expecting.

"We're going to give you one chance to turn your back and leave," said the Humanoid.

"I'm just looking for him," Fett replied, indicating towards the Weequay with his blaster. "He comes with me, and there'll be no trouble."

There really was no honor amongst thieves, or murderers, or whatever else these guys were. Fett could see that the Rodian shifted slightly at his words. There was one in every group of criminals; one who was willing to sell out the others in order to save his own skin. Finding this one had been much easier than Fett had anticipated. The close quarters certainly helped, because, from the looks of things, there was no way for the three to get out without getting past him first.

"You're already in trouble," the Humanoid said.

Then blasters went off. Fett leapt to one side, firing at the Humanoid. He fired three shots off in the time it took to dodge the blaster fire. The first two missed, but the third round hit the Humanoid in the thigh. Within seconds, the Humanoid was on the floor, grasping at his shot leg and fumbling with his blaster, blinded with pain. For now at least, he was temporarily sidelined.

Becoming hyper-sensitive to his surroundings, Fett saw the Rodian hesitate as the Weequay charged forward. In the small cave, a firefight was not an ideal way to continue the fight for any parties involved. Instead, the Weequay came at him with what looked like a reclaimed gaffi stick, probably taken off a Tusken Raider and carried around for show. Fett easily ducked under the first swing. It didn't take much more than that one swing to alert Fett to the fact that wielding such a weapon made his opponent slow. As the second swing came hurtling towards his head, Fett made a grab for the weapon with his free hand. He successfully wrenched his opponent into a vulnerable position and delivered a kick to his abdomen, separating Weequay from weapon and driving him into the dirt.

Pinning the Weequay to the ground with one foot, Fett aimed his heavy blaster at the weak link in the party. The Rodian dashed away so quickly, he nearly dropped his blaster. Fett followed the Rodian, blaster trained on him, until he was out of sight, in case he should be trying to play a trick. If he was, it wouldn't have worked for him. Once he was convinced that the Rodian was certainly not coming back, Fett aimed his blaster directly at the Weequay's head.

"Maybe you'd like to rethink your answer," Fett said triumphantly.

XXX

That evening, Boba Fett led his latest acquisition into the audience chamber of the Hutt. As usual, a hush descended upon the crowds gathered there. But there was something different about this hush. Fett could feel the difference in the air as soon as he was within full view of the crowd. The usually curious faces were not curious, and the looks of awe and envy were replaced with fear and shock. Fett wondered what was wrong with everyone. Were they expecting him to bring in a dead Weequay? As far as he knew, the information Meela had provided had said that the mark was preferred alive as opposed to dead. Fett told himself that it was the fact that he was bringing in a murderer. He had them all scared.

He approached the dais of the Hutt, just as he had before, though this time some of the youthful strut had returned to his step, and he held himself just a little bit taller and straighter. The Weequay didn't struggle, though he wasn't exactly what one might call cooperative either.

"What is this!" the Twi'lek majordomo demanded, his voice nearly a yell.

"I have brought the Weequay murderer, and wish to collect the bounty-" Fett said before being interrupted.

"This is the bounty of Torsch, not given to the likes of you," interrupted the Hutt, practically frothing at the mouth. "Why have you encroached upon the rights of my favourite hunter?"

Fett stood in shock for a mere second. He didn't move his head, but his eyes frantically scanned his HUD, looking for Meela in the crowd, hoping she might explain, but she was nowhere to be found, though Fett was relieved that the Red was no where to be found either. "Meela sent me on this bounty!" Fett replied, trying his best to mask the anxiety in his voice.

"Fetch the Red!" the Hutt demanded. "Now!"

Fett felt a wave of anxiety run through him, though he stood squarely. Torsch was a contracted bounty hunter. The Hutt trusted this bounty to Torsch, and Fett had collected on it. For all Fett knew, Torsch had already been paid in advance for this bounty. Had Meela done this on purpose? Had she known all along that Fett was going to encroach upon her client's rights? This was an excellent way to get rid of a potential rival, and if that had indeed been Meela's play, she had done it extremely well. Fett saw red with anger. He almost wished he'd throttled the woman when he'd had the chance, though it occurred to him that he probably would have gotten into worse trouble for that.

The Red entered the audience chamber with gusto. The crowd parted from the stairs, as if it were fire coming in their direction. The crowd remained eerily silent, as if they were holding their breath waiting for something to happen, as if the slightest noise might drag them into the conflict as well. The Red stood only a few feet from Fett. This time, he noticed that the Red walked with a slight limp.

"You called for me," the Red said, roughly.

"This sleemo has come to collect on your bounty," the Hutt explained.

The Red turned to look at Fett, but said nothing. Fett could feel the Red's eyes on him. Sweat rolled down his forehead. The Red said nothing but turned back to the Hutt. "I can see that, but-" the Red started, before being interrupted.

"What would you have me do with him?" the Hutt demanded. Fett suddenly felt hands on his shoulders as he was pushed to the ground from behind. He had been too distracted to notice the Hutt's Gammorrean's coming up behind him. The Weequay had also been taken away from him, though he hadn't noticed that either. He'd been too preoccupied trying to find Meela in the crowd or at least come up with a decent explanation as to why he had just accidentally collected on the Red Warrior's bounty. He could feel his arms being restrained, and knew weapons were being pointed at him from multiple directions.

"You excellency," said the Red with uncharacteristic ceremony. "Meela has given the bounty on this Weequay to the other… she…. She… didn't she tell you?" Even through the audio filter on the Red's helmet, alarm was present in his voice.

"Bring her here!" shouted the Hutt. More guards disappeared up the stairs to the living quarters. The crowd, breaking from their stunned silence, started chattering anxiously, anticipating what was going to happen.

A few moments later, guards returned. "Meela is not in the hunter's chamber," one reported. A wave of chatter ascended over the crowd, subsiding again as the Hutt began shouting again.

"Find her! If she has cheated the bounty hunter, then I will have her head along with this other one. They shall pay for this outrage!" Clearly rationality wasn't a strong attribute in the Hutt, but rationality was not something Hutts were generally known for anyway.

Fett could feel himself being jabbed between his armor with weapons. He was in a spot that he knew he wasn't going to get out of easy. He had angered a Hutt, and had a whole retinue of guards up against him. Guards were typically pretty easy to fight off, but considering the numbers, and the fact that space was limited, Fett knew that the fight would not be to his advantage, no matter how the cards were stacked.

Fett fixed his eyes on the Red Warrior, who had seemed to have tried to explain, but had not been given any chance to. The room was becoming tenser by the second, but the Red stood still, as if frozen, for a few moments. Finally, as he felt himself being dragged back to his feet roughly, Fett saw something he almost didn't believe.

The Red reached up to his helmet, and with a swift motion, tore it off. A wave of long, golden-brown hair tumbled out, and suddenly, the whole room went as silent as a tomb.

"Looking for me?" said the unmasked Red. The voice belonged to Meela.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! I didn't leave any notes on the last chapter because I didn't want to break the mood! I hope everyone who didn't review on the last chapter enjoyed the reveal as much as I did! Like an idiot, I had guest reviews turned off, so if any guests reviewed, I never saw them. I have it turned on now, so I should automatically get all reviews.

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Boba Fett stood, mouth agape, in absolute disbelief at what had just transpired before his very eyes. The Red Warrior had removed the helmet that hid his face, and revealed a woman underneath. Meela appeared from under the helmet, her long, golden-brown hair falling out, all the way past her hips. There was fire in her green eyes and a defiant look on her face.

Suddenly, everything made sense. Fett's mind flashed back through everything that had happened since he had first come to this place. Looking back on everything, he realized that though they had been believed to work together, Meela and Torsch had never been seen at the same time. Wherever Torsch had gone, Meela had gone also, and just as well, they had both returned from the most recent hunt tired, and with a limp. Fett, just as everyone else in the audience chamber, seemed to have thought nothing of it. Even Meela's remark that there could have been a woman under Fett's armor rang much more true; she must have been throwing the scent off of herself. Had she really been trying to double-cross him? If she had, it wasn't going very well.

The whole audience chamber gasped in utter shock. "Looking for me?" Meela asked defiantly. Her voice was different now, less refined, and deeper than before.

The Hutt roared in anger. "What is this!" he demanded. "What have you done with the Red Hunter?" Even the Twi'lek majordomo was too afraid to say anything.

But Meela showed no fear, even as Gammorreans closed in on her, prepared for the inevitable order to capture her as well. "I have done nothing. I am the Red Warrior. I always have been," she said in plain Huttese.

"Schutta," the Hutt growled. "You have deceived me."

"But I got the job done," Meela replied evenly, deterring the two uncertain guards who now flanked her. "There is no opponent you could give me who I could not defeat."

Fett could see the two guards shift uneasily at her words. The Red had a reputation that, only a few days ago, had commanded the respect of the entire audience chamber. Even the one behind the helmet was Meela, it seemed to be enough to make the guards wonder whether or not they had the stomach to fight her. They tightened their grip on their weapons, but they seemed not to dare take another step towards her. They both could have easily overpowered her, even in armor, but probably couldn't match her for speed or wits. Fett guessed that it was the wits they really feared. She certainly was clever, to use her words to not only argue against the angry Hutt, but to keep the guards at bay. And no wonder, she'd just spent who-knew-how-long convincing everyone that she was really two different people. That must have required intelligence.

That assumed, of course, that she hadn't killed the real Red Warrior somewhere along the way in order to take his place. The possibility that she had murdered someone else in order to assume their identity did cross Fett's mind, but he could tell from her step, and her confidence, that she'd been in the armor for a while. So if she had killed someone for his armor, she'd done it a long time ago.

Fett stood to one side of her now, forgotten for the moment. Clearly his infraction was nothing compared to the Red's deception. The Hutt's attention was now fully fixed on Meela, who stared back with absolutely none of the reservations she'd displayed before, when she'd been acting as little more than a messenger. She didn't even acknowledge the two guards who were easily within striking distance. Her stance was uncompromising, the posture of a real fighter, quite unlike the diplomatic and formalized behavior she'd used as Meela. Fett found himself wondering, for a moment, if that was even her real name.

The suspense gripped the entire audience chamber, as Meela and the Hutt stared each other down. The only sounds seemed to be the breathing of the entire crowd, augmented by the especially loud breathing of the Hutt. Would the Hutt kill his favorite hunter now that he knew he'd been deceived? Hutts were not known for being merciful, but they were known for rewarding their favorites. Perhaps he would reward his favorite by sparing her life.

Finally, the Hutt broke the agonizing silence. "Get out of my sight! Get off of this planet! If I catch you here again, I'll have you killed! Once the news breaks on the Holonet that you're a fraud, you'll never work again!" the Hutt ranted. He seemed intent on making her live miserably rather than die quickly.

Fett could hardly believe what Meela did next. She smirked! She actually smirked as she was exiled and her career was threatened. "Good," she said. "Saves me the trouble of telling everyone that you were fooled by the likes of me."

Even Boba Fett, who thought of himself as a very serious sort, had to suppress a laugh at that one. It seemed that now that Meela knew she was going to make it out alive, she had no problem adding insult to injury. The Hutt didn't think it was so funny. "Get out! GET OUT!" he bellowed, practically frothing at the mouth, determined that the Red Woman wasn't going to get the better of him yet again.

Finally, the guards swallowed their fear and moved to grab her by the arms. Meela shrugged away from them. "No, no. I know my way out." She turned and exited up the stairs, presumably to gather whatever possessions she had and leave out the back. Like they always did, the crowd made way for her, though this time they peered suspiciously at her. As soon as she was gone, whispers travelled through the hall in half a dozen languages.

"You," the Hutt rasped, pointing in Fett's direction. "Be gone!"

The Hutt was still angry, but most of his anger seemed to be directed at the Red. Fett knew that it wasn't likely the Hutt would even remember would even remember what Fett had done to incur his anger, but thought it was best he put some distance between himself and the angry Crime Lord. He hadn't been specifically exiled, and was probably not going to be paid for the job he'd just wasted a whole day on, but he was still happy to be coming out of this one alive. For a few moments, he had been sure that the Hutt was going to kill him. Meela too, for that matter; Fett had been sure that the Hutt would kill her. Apparently the Hutt had been, at one point, loyal enough to the Red to let Meela go free.

He had been planning on leaving after this anyways. Tatooine was a miserable planet. It was hot and the sand got everywhere, and it was difficult for a bounty hunter to find work without finding himself (or herself) contracted to a Hutt. There was plenty of work to be found elsewhere. There was work on Nar Shaddaa, Correllia, Coruscant, any planet in the galaxy really. Fett knew his only setback was going to be cash. He had anticipated being paid for this last job, but now that probably wasn't going to happen, nor did he particularly want to press the issue.

So he left the Hutt's estate. He had really left nothing there; all his possessions, save what he was wearing, were aboard the Slave I, a precaution in case he needed to make a quick exit. He'd never anticipated circumstances like this though. On the swoop ride back into the city, where he'd docked his ship, Fett kept an eye out for the Red, but saw nothing. The suns were beginning to set, and it would soon be dark. The desert was dangerous in the dark. It became cold enough to kill a man, and all manner of things patrolled the deserts at night.

He would have gone straight to his ship, but he needed to resupply. He knew that his on-board food stores were running low, though he hadn't used the ship in a few days and hadn't taken the time to resupply yet. There was no sense in his rations expiring because he'd bought them prematurely. He took what credits he did have left, and stopped at the local supply shop. The selection didn't offer a great amount of variety, but rations were rations, and as Fett spent most of his time on his ship, rather than planetside, he needed food that wouldn't perish during space voyages. He bought what he could, though it wasn't much, considering his state of relative poverty. Fett wondered how he was ever going to pay a docking fee.

XXX

The Slave I was in Docking Bay 87, right where he'd left it. The ship was certainly a sight for sore eyes. After the ridiculous monotony of the Hutt's estate, Boba Fett was pleased to be reunited with his own ship. After settling his fees with the local port authority, leaving Fett with only 826 credits to spare, he keyed his way into the dock. To his relief, the ship appeared to be untouched. That was always one of his worst nightmares, coming back to find his ship destroyed or gone. That ship was essentially all he had from his entire life. To lose it would be to lose a part of himself.

"I was wondering when you'd turn up," said a voice from behind, drawing Fett out of his reverie. Meela was standing behind him, leaning up against the wall, arms crossed over her chest casually. She was out of her armor now, but this time dressed the part of a bounty hunter, blaster strapped to one leg.

"How did you get in here?" Fett demanded, remembering that he'd needed to key his way in.

"Money's not the only way to get what you want," she replied, shrugging. Fett noticed three cases stacked beside her.

Fett didn't even want to know what she'd done to get into the hangar. "What do you want?" he asked.

"A ride," she replied simply.

"Don't you have a ship?"

"I did, until it got totaled by my last client. That's how I ended up on this rock, working for a Hutt who was kind enough to give me use of one if I contracted exclusively with him. I haven't saved up enough for another one."

"Why would I let you anywhere near me and my ship? You cost me a bounty and nearly got me killed."

She paused reverently for a moment. Her voice softened when she continued, "that was my own fault. I take full responsibility."

"Why?"

She sighed heavily. "This isn't a conversation I want to have now," she said, sounding irritated. "Look, I can get you work. I may have blown my cover, but I'm still a competent bounty agent. Wherever you're going, I can find you a job."

Fett stared at her through his helmet, though he knew she couldn't see his face. He contemplated what she said. He owed her that at least; she had essentially saved his life, even if she had put it in danger first. She had revealed her true identity in order to prevent him from meeting a much crueler fate. Fett never liked being indebted to others. As far as he was concerned, he wanted nothing to do with her. "Can't you find transport elsewhere?"

"I could, but why pay for what you can get for free?"

"I can't help you," he said. He turned his back on her to head into his ship, remaining aware of her through the 360 degree vision on his HUD, in case she drew a blaster on him.

She didn't. She just stayed where she was, though he could tell she was watching him. He was halfway to his ship when she spoke again. "That armor wasn't made for you, was it?" she said loudly.

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned back to face her. "And what makes you think that?" he replied.

"The plates are too big for you, so either they were made for someone larger than you, or you've lost a lot of weight recently. You don't walk like someone who has really lived in their armor. I would know."

She was right. Fett had spent the better part of three years trying to live outside of his armor, and now that he was back in it, something didn't fit. The armor hadn't been made for him, and he had lost a lot of weight recently. His father had been bigger than he was, but Fett had been faster and more cunning. He'd had the armor altered slightly to fit his leaner frame, but hadn't gotten the chance to have it altered again to reflect his lost muscle mass. Perhaps he was hoping it would come back in time. He had never thought anyone else who notice it so plainly.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

She stood up all the way and took a few steps towards him. "I know what it's like to live behind armor, never giving a clue as to who you are underneath it."

He didn't reply. He just stared at her, though she stared right back. She obviously wasn't intimidated by the Mandalorian armor like everyone else was.

"You're going to let me come with you," she said with a smile. "Because you know you need my help."

Damn. She was right. He did need her help. "Fine." he said after a pause. "Where do you need to get to?"

"I don't care. Anywhere but here. Wherever the work is."

"Fair enough."

She collected her three cases while he opened up the ship. As she was about to enter, he grabbed her by the arm. "You're not going to try to sleep with me again, are you? Because I told you, I'm not-"

"No, no, no," she interrupted him. "I don't like you like that."

He was thoroughly confused. "But… in the Hutt's palace… " he sputtered slightly. "You tried to-"

"Sleep with you? Yeah, I do that a lot. To potential clients, competition, even marks from time to time. Your response told me everything I needed to know."

He let go of her arm, taken aback at how open she was. Fett had never been with a woman besides his former wife, and felt like even letting another woman onto his ship was betraying her. Why was he taking this other woman onto his ship? He had already told her, he had every reason not to. She had almost gotten him killed. But Fett couldn't just forget that she'd also saved him. She had a position as a personal bounty hunter to a wealthy Hutt, who could have given her a lifetime of security. Instead of letting him die, she had removed her helmet and exposed herself, at great risk to her own life. Fett was still suspicious, but couldn't deny that he was grateful she had been willing to incur such a risk in order to help him. That was why he could never have left her in that hangar. He had his own sense of justice, and so, despite all the reasons he gave to the contrary, he knew that he was going to let her on his ship the moment she'd asked.

He let Meela go first onto the ship, since she was carrying things. He didn't press the conversation about her… methods… any further, not sure he really wanted to hear any more.

Just before she ducked into the cargo hold, she looked back at him over her shoulder. "By the way," she said. "If we're going to work together, you should know: my real name is Torscha."

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A/N: The female character previously referred to as 'Meela' will now be referred to as 'Torscha' by the narration. You'll recall that the Red Warrior's name was given as 'Torsch'. Torscha was actually a placeholder name that I gave to the character when I started freewriting within her character. I wanted to rename her Meela, but the name Torscha ended up sticking, becoming the character's real name, with Meela becoming her alias.

Please take a moment and leave a review. I'm still offering cupcakes, blue milk, and Mandalorian Ale.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Full chapter uploaded on 8/10/12. Thanks for your patience everyone. A shoutout to LongLiveTheClones, whose support and critiques were really helpful in getting through Chapters Seven and Eight. I did incorporate some of her suggestions into the first section, so even if you already read it, it might be worth a second go-around. Go read her stuff. If you like mine, chances are you'll like some of hers.

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"I don't know about you, but I am tired of dealing with Hutts, so let's avoid Hutt Space for now. That means Nar Shaddaa's out," said Torscha, not looking up from her datapad. "How does Coruscant sound to you?"

"Coruscant?" Boba Fett asked, not quite knowing what she was asking him.

"Coruscant. You know, the whole planet is one big city. Excellent nightlife; horrible traffic; enough politicians to make your mind go numb."

"Yeah, I know what planet you're talking about. What about it?"

"You're not avoiding it for any reason, are you? Have anyone looking for you? Any old scores to settle?"

"No. It should be fine."

"Good. I have a few favors there I can call in. I should have a job for you shortly after we land," she said, referencing her datapad one last time before tucking it away in a pouch at her hip. "Now let's get off this rock."

"Agreed," Fett replied. Then, he initiated the launch sequence of the Slave I, feeling the familiar jerks of the engine as the ship lifted out of the hangar and into the atmosphere.

"You sure this piece of junk can make it to Coruscant?" Torscha asked, sounding uncertain for the first time since Fett had met her. Granted, it had only been a matter of a little over a week since they'd met, but they'd been in some pretty compromising situations during that time.

"She's not a piece of junk!" Fett replied defensively. The Slave I certainly was old, older than he was, but she was in good , working order. Fett took good care of her, since the ship was really the only consistency throughout his life. He couldn't imagine himself using another.

Torscha raised both hands defensively. "I was just asking."

"She'll get us there," Fett said absently as he punched in the coordinates, readying to jump to hyperspace as soon as they left the atmosphere. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her, through his HUD, glance around at the displays, presumably trying to be useful. However, by the expression on her face, it was evident that she did not read Mando'a, limiting her understanding of the displays severely. There weren't too many people who read Mando'a, at least not that Fett had come into contact with recently, and it wasn't the sort of language anyone learned for fun.

It felt strange, having another person aboard. Besides acquisitions, Fett had never really had anyone else on his ship after his father had died. Even Sintas hadn't spent a great deal of time on his ship, and he had married her. Now he had allowed another hunter, a stranger and a known deceiver onto his ship. It felt like an intrusion on the memory of his father, to let someone else into the space. Fett reminded himself that this was just a temporary arrangement for the single purpose of finding work. Torscha's presence wouldn't change anything.

A thought jarred him as he navigated out of hyperspace. Where was she going to sleep? It was going to take a few days in hyperspace at least to get from Tatooine to Coruscant, and he doubted either of them were going to stay awake that long. He'd have to figure that one out when he got there. Maybe she'd volunteer to sleep in the cargo hold or something, though Fett couldn't attest to how comfortable it would be.

Once they were safely out of Tatooine's atmosphere, Fett made the jump to hyperspace, leaving Tatooine -quite literally- in the dust. Their ETA was in a little over four days. With the autopilot successfully engaged, he sat back in his seat. Normally, he would have taken his helmet off, but with the presence of another entity, he had hesitated, settling with only removing his jetpack in the cargo hold.

Torscha shifted uncomfortable, pulling her feet up onto the copilot's seat and drawing her knees close to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. The gesture made her seem small and girlish, and Fett wondered how old she really was. When she had been Meela, she had made up her face with cosmetics, which disguised whatever her real age was, and coming out of armor, she had seemed much larger than she proved to be in real life. However, now that he saw her in plain-clothes, Fett suspected that she wasn't too far off his own age.

"You're not going to be able to wear that armor for four days. You might as well just take the helmet off now," she said knowingly.

"I'd prefer to keep it on."

"I took off mine to save your skin," she reminded him. "And if I remember, you've seen me wearing nothing at all." She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"I thought you didn't like me like that," he said, irritated, calling up her words from before.

"Well I guess that depends on what's under the armor."

He didn't have anything to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut. He wanted to leave her there, but didn't trust her alone in the cockpit of his ship.

"So you're going to wear armor for four days?"

"If I have to."

"You'd be dead right now if I hadn't taken off my helmet."

She had a point. It was only fair. She really had saved his life by removing her helmet, drawing all the Hutt's attention from his infraction, to her outright deception. Fett sighed heavily, then reached up to remove his helmet, keenly aware of her eyes on him. Carefully, he lifted off his bucket, and with one hand, pulled off the close-fitting hood he wore underneath. He set down his helmet on the console then looked her straight in the eye. "There. Happy?" he spat, irritated.

She didn't flinch at his irritation as others might have done. She was a bounty hunter, a certain degree of toughness came with the title. Her intelligent green eyes regarded him carefully. Her face remained neutral, though not entirely expressionless. She showed interest, a keen and intent gaze that suggested that she was genuinely pleased at what she saw. Of course, there was no reason why she shouldn't have been pleased by the emergence of a young, human male from behind the helmet.

It also gave Fett an opportunity to observe her without looking at her through his HUD, which, while helpful in strategic situations, was sometimes less-than-helpful when just trying to look at another person. She was different now than when she was Meela; she was dressed a lot less femininely for one thing, but there was also something more intelligent about her face and eyes. He couldn't put his finger on it, but her entire presence felt different. Maybe it was just in his head because now he knew who she really was. He looked straight into her eyes, and she returned his stare frankly, without reservations.

A few moments passed as the two hunters measured each other without their helmets on. She broke the contest first, grinning. "Seems like I know how to pick 'em," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he returned, still irritated that she'd pestered him out of his helmet.

She brought her legs down from the chair and leaned in closer, resting her elbows on her knees, still boldly keeping eye contact. "That my offer's still open."

Fett coughed and looked away, turning red at her suggestion. He couldn't see her, but could hear her laughing. After a few moments, and the whatever hilarity she'd found in his reaction wore off, he looked back at her, scowling at the satisfied grin she had on her face. "So why did you take off your helmet?" he asked abruptly.

Her smile dropped. She broke eye contact and looked out the window, sitting back up, though there was nothing to see besides the blue walls of hyperspace travel. "It was my own mistake that got you into trouble, so I thought I should get you out."

"Well you did a wonderful job," he returned sarcastically.

"I thought it would be alright," she snapped back. "I thought that I had been in the Hutt's employ long enough that it wouldn't matter that Meela and Torsch were the same person, that maybe he wouldn't care that he'd been tricked. I was stupid not to realize that Hutts never like being tricked."

"You got that right."

"I was just so tired," she continued absently, staring straight into space. "When I gave you that job, I was so tired that I barely even made it into bed before I was asleep. The next morning, I didn't even think to tell anyone I'd given up that job. I don't think I even remembered that I'd given it up in the first place. But when they told me that you'd stolen a job from me, I knew it was all a big mistake. Unfortunately for both of us, I was putting on my armor at the time. I hardly had time to get my helmet on; I had to shove all my hair up into it."

"Then why did you even bother showing up that night, when you gave me the job?"

"It would have been rude not to. I was already pushing it by not showing up in armor, but honestly, being Meela is much easier. Less heavy. I shouldn't have tried giving you that job when I was that out of it, and I'm sorry I did it."

One of her hands went to her pouch and fumbled for something. She pulled out a credit chip. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "This is what you should have been paid for that job. I figure I owe you."

"Save it," he said. "You said you'd find me work. I couldn't ask you to pay me as well."

"I knew you wouldn't take it," she said, a slow smirk working it's way across her features.

"You did?" he asked, looking at her with a confused expression.

"Like I said, the night we met told me everything I needed to know." She slouched all the way back into her seat, a full grin spreading across her face in triumph.

His face, dumbstruck, begged for an explanation, eliciting a giggle of pure amusement from her.

"You refused to sleep with me, even though I laid myself out like the main course of a banquet for you. I can honestly say that you're the first one who's done that. You even looked away when I got up to fetch my robe. So either you're a man of honor, or you really wanted to screw me over, and if you had wanted that, you would have left me on Tatooine."

Had he really been that easy? How had she gotten all that out of less than a minute of conversation? He hadn't even taken his helmet off, so she couldn't have been reading his facial expressions. Was this some kind of parlor trick?

"You could really tell all that from one interaction?" he asked skeptically.

She nodded. Fett just grunted in response. He certainly judged her for her ways. She was brazen to offer sex for the purposes of gaining information. As clever as it was, it was still shameless and crude of her. He didn't want to wonder how many others she'd been with, and considering the kind of company bounty hunters usually kept, he really didn't want to know who. He found it completely baffling that she would have so little self respect that she would be so easy. He tried not to judge her so harshly, considering the effectiveness of her methods, but couldn't help himself. He had never been with anyone besides his wife, and now he didn't even have her, and he managed just fine.

They sat in awkward silence anymore. Fett didn't really feel inclined to say much more to her, and she seemed to definitely pick up on that. Eventually she was the one to break the silence, "So, we're going to be onboard for four days. Are you going to show me around your ship or not?"

XXX

Showing Torscha his ship wasn't a difficult task. The Slave I was small, and there wasn't really much to show off. Fett decided that Torscha was definitely sleeping in the cargo hold; it lessened the risk of her jumping him again, and he could always lock her out through the cockpit hatch, which he usually left open. He had a cot down there that could be locked down temporarily. She didn't seem to mind very much. Though Fett figured she'd probably slept in much worse.

Though he had established that she wasn't sharing the living quarters, he still took her up there because that was the only place on the small ship that allowed access to the cramped refresher and compact kitchen, which could be used to reheat and prepare instant meals. His companion wasn't about to go four days without use of a proper refresher or without food, so letting her into his personal spaces was a necessary inconvenience.

There was absolutely no protest from Torscha, who, he knew, considered herself lucky to have even gotten him to let her on his ship. It only took a few minutes to establish sleeping quarters and to show her the necessities aboard the cramped ship. The first thing she did was use the refresher to shower. Fett didn't blame her. Tatooine was murderously hot and dusty, and it was worse inside armor, even with the advanced cooling systems that kept the wearer from frying completely.

He took the opportunity to remove his armor, which he had been wearing for the better part of about sixteen hours by then. He was used to wearing his armor for long periods of time, but that didn't mean he was always comfortable. The armor was heavy and restricted his movement. Getting it off was like releasing a weight from his shoulders. Feeling awkward that Torscha might come out at any moment to find him out of armor, he retreated to the cockpit and made himself look busy.

When she did come out only a few minutes afterwards, drying off her long hair with a towel that Fett presumed was her own since he'd never seen it before, she said nothing. He decided that, when she wasn't trying to get information, she was very quiet and reserved, not entirely unlike himself. While their initial conversation aboard the ship had been relatively lengthy, Fett realized that he still knew very little about her, and she probably knew about as much about him. Good. He wanted to keep it that way. The more she knew about him, the more weaknesses she'd be able to find, and even if they were working together temporarily, he did not want her knowing any of his weaknesses.

A few hours of quiet followed. Fett remained in the cockpit and living quarters, and Torscha stayed in the cargo hold, making not a sound. Fett was hungry, and went to prepare some rations for himself when it occurred to him that his companion might be hungry as well. He wanted to see what she was doing anyways, make sure she wasn't taking apart his equipment or anything.

Sighing heavily to himself, and bracing himself for more conversation with Torscha, he climbed down into the cargo hold. Conversing with her was exhausting. She was witty and intelligent, more so than most other people Fett came into contact with. He had to keep track of everything he said, lest he expose a weakness to her, while at the same time, he analyzed her.

She was maintaining her blasters when he found her, cleaning them and such. One thing Fett had noticed about Tatooine was that it wasn't a good environment for blasters. No matter how secure they appeared, sand always seemed to find it's way into the parts of the weapons and was liable to ruin them. Now that they were headed off the planet, it made sense that the first thing a seasoned bounty hunter would do would be to see to their guns.

"You know, if our working together is only going to be a temporary thing, we probably shouldn't show each other our guns," she said as he entered. Her back was to him, but she didn't move; she concentrated on what she was doing.

He shook off her comment. "If you want to eat, you should do it now," he said roughly. He didn't want her thinking that any of this was out of charity. After all, she had gotten him into this whole mess, even if she had gotten him back out of it again.

She set down the heavy blaster she was working on and got up from the cot, moving to crouch beside one of her cases, from which she pulled several ration packets. They weren't the type you could just open and eat, but the kind you heated up and were like an actual meal instead of pure nutrients. Instead of taking them herself, she held them out to Fett instead. "Take them," she said. "I got these last time I was in the core worlds. They're better than whatever you got on Tatooine, but they'll probably expire before I'm off-planet again, so we might as well use them up."

"You eating or no?"

She huffed impudently. Obviously she had been expecting a more gracious response. "And here I thought we were getting along," she said, brushing past him to climb up into the living quarters to heat up her own food.

Making minimal noise, she heated up her own meal, but much to Fett's dismay, she didn't leave again to eat it. Though he realized, in hindsight, that he probably shouldn't have expected her to. Getting back down into the cargo hold while carrying a meal wasn't something he generally recommended. Instead, she leaned back against the storage cabinets and ate quietly. Her food certainly smelled like it tasted better than his own, which was relatively tasteless.

As was becoming the usual, she broke the rather awkward silence. "How long have you been a bounty hunter?" she asked between bites.

He looked at her for a few moments. "Why do you care?" he returned abruptly.

"Well I am going to find you a job. This is relevant information that potential clients are going to ask me," she replied sardonically.

She had a point. "Six years, give or take," he replied. "But I haven't worked in three years."

"Why?" she asked.

"Just because," he replied, getting irritated with her questioning.

"What did you do?"

"What is this, an interrogation?" he spat back, angrily.

"Potential clients are going to ask me questions since they probably don't know who you are, and if I can't answer them, then neither of us are going to get paid," she snapped back, her voice deepening authoritatively.

"Why can't you just tell them that I can get the job done and be finished with it?"

"Because that's not how it works. Clients want credentials, and if I tell them that you've been off for three years, they're going to want to know why. You could have been sitting in an enemy prison for all they know. They're just trying to protect themselves. That's why they hire us to begin with." Her tone became patronizing. It made him realize exactly how long he'd been out of work. She couldn't have been older than he was, and she was lecturing him in getting work.

He stood up to full height from where he'd been sitting while he ate. "You have no right to talk to me like that!"

"Oh, well excuse me. I've been a hunter for just as long as you have, and I didn't take three years off. I think that puts me a little further up on the hierarchy than you!" She stepped into his personal space, unafraid of the fact that he was much larger than she was.

"I'm not the one who needed a ride!"

"Without me you couldn't get a decent job, and then you wouldn't have a ship or a job."

"At least I don't have to whore myself out to get one!"

She stopped short, green eyes blazing. Her brow furrowed and she set her jaw proudly. She took a few deep breaths, then continued in a slow, deep voice. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, and when we land in three days, I'm going to find you work." Then she sidled past him, tossed what was left of her food in the on-board incinerator, and disappeared back down into the cargo hold.

"She's lucky I don't throw her out the airlock," Fett muttered to himself.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me. Please take a moment to leave a review.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: If you haven't already, make sure you go and read the completed Chapter Seven. I told LongLiveTheClones I'd get this one out tonight, and it's almost 5 AM CST, and I've got it done. It took a lot of Battlefront II and a new set of Pandora playlists, but I've got it, and I actually like how it turned out, even though the beginning is a still a little unsteady. Mandalorian Ale for everybody!

In this chapter, we're going to see things from Torscha's POV for the first time. I don't know how much of her POV I want to include in this on the whole, so let me know what you think.

Just as a warning, this chapter is a little grittier than the previous ones. This is where we are going to start scuffing up against some of that Rated-T stuff.

* * *

Clearly, the whore comment hadn't gone over well. For the remainder of the four day journey to Coruscant, Boba Fett and his companion hardly spoke to one another. Being bounty hunters, both were secretive by nature and vague by design to begin with, but when both were faced with the daunting prospect of finding work, the Slave I became a verifiable pressure cooker.

Boba Fett wasn't sorry about what he'd said. He had meant it. Now, he just wished he'd used better judgment in the timing of such a comment. Placed as it was, it only served to make the rest of the journey painfully awkward. He and Torscha stayed in their relative sections of the ship, and didn't say a word to each other beyond what was absolutely necessary. By the time they were preparing to land, they had maybe said about thirty words to each other altogether.

The planet was a welcome sight through the cockpit window, as it meant that this awkward journey would be soon ending. Fett wasn't about to let his companion, however he felt about her, get smashed in the cargo hold when they broke into the atmosphere. So he climbed down into the cargo hold to begin what he anticipated to be yet another awkward conversation.

"We're going to break atmo in about twenty minutes, so I suggest you lock down anything that might get tossed around and come up to the cockpit," he warned her, trying his best to sound neutral.

"Fine," she replied coolly. "I'll be along in a few minutes." She only glanced up from her datapad, from which it seemed she was reading some information. Fett did note that while she had been dressed practically throughout most of their journey, she was dressed femininely again, this time in sea green.

That was a lot less painful than he'd anticipated. Granted, she was at his mercy, since she was on his ship, and he could have thrown her out the airlock at any time. She was just a small and vulnerable young woman. Fett knew he was no good with women, and that the women who could actually tolerate his brash personality were probably few and far between. He didn't know very many, and had only really had one in his entire life, and that had worked out horribly. Needless to say, he had rather cynical views on women, and tended to avoid them. As a child, there were really only two women he'd ever really known. There had been Taun We, the Kaminoan who sometimes took care of him when he still lived in Tipoca City, and Zam, the bounty hunter who was a frequent partner of his father's. He'd always loved Zam, and her death had been something of a blow. She'd been the first person he'd known who'd died, and after her death, he'd lost some of his childlike innocence.

He'd married Sintas when he was sixteen, and three years later, still didn't know why. It had occurred to him over the past few days, in which the company of the woman in his cargo hold had drawn his thoughts back to his ex-wife, that he had moved to fast. His relationship had been quick to start, even quicker to crumble. Maybe he had just been young and foolish. As clichéd as it sounded, it was probably at least somewhat true. He wished he could have done it over. He might have given himself some good counsel about thinking before acting.

He hated that the presence of another woman had conjured all these thoughts about Sintas. Torscha was nothing like Sintas, or at least that's what he told himself. Sintas was a woman of honor, a good friend and a good bounty hunter. Torscha was, by Fett's semi-reasonable judgment, promiscuous and immoral, though she did seem to have some skewed semblance on honor in that she had been willing to jeopardize her own career in order to spare him. That shred of honor he had seen in Torscha when she had removed her helmet was enough to keep him from abandoning her completely. But it did not stop him from feeling guilty, even though he hadn't done anything. He felt dirty for even having looked another woman in the eye, even though Sintas had made it perfectly clear that they were no longer married.

"What's our ETA?" said the voice that interrupted his thoughts. It was Torscha, who was climbing into the copilot's chair, datapad in hand.

Helmet off, Fett quickly looked around at the various displays in the cockpit, finding the right one quickly. "About 1800 hours planetary standard time when we land," he replied neutrally.

"Perfect," she said, entering one more thing, presumably the time, into her datapad before putting it away in the pouch at her side. "When we land, I can arrange meetings with a few clients. I'll bring you a few options and you can take your pick. Anything I need to know before I get you work?" She pointedly didn't make eye contact with him, seeming to prefer the displays, though Fett was certain she couldn't read them.

"I'll take just about anything," he replied. "Just don't bring me anything petty."

"I'd never take a petty job. Even a whore like me has standards." Her tone was sarcastic, but as sharp as a knife.

Shab. He'd hoped she wouldn't go there. While he didn't retract his judgment of her, he at least somewhat regretted making it known to her. It had kept her quiet, but had made the four-day journey to Coruscant painfully awkward. Still, he didn't want to apologize. He'd meant what he'd said, even if he wished he hadn't actually said it.

He decided not to respond. "Any idea what kind of jobs you can get?"

"Probably anything you want, to a degree. You've got some experience, and I'll give you some credibility."

"I was talking about you. What kind of jobs can you get?"

"It depends on how fast the word's spread. We've been out here for four days, and so my major clients may know by now, but I doubt they were actually looking. They knew I was long-term contracted, so there's a chance they might have missed it."

Fett didn't really respond, as he became occupied with navigating the Slave I into the atmosphere. Coruscant's atmosphere was dense and smoggy from all the pollution. The entire planet was a city, and, from what Fett had seen, it wasn't a particularly clean one. True, it had it's shiny and new sections, but those were built on top of old and scummy sections, which were built on top of rotten and greasy sections, which were built on top of the sludge-filled remains of thousands of years worth of urbanization.

He landed the ship in a district he knew rather well. It was frequented by a lot of bounty hunters and smugglers and others of that sort. It was the kind of place where you could land without anyone asking any questions. The docking fees were a little expensive, but remaining incognito was of the utmost importance for a bounty hunter.

Once they were safely landed, Torscha moved first, unbuckling her restraint and climbing out of her seat. "Alright," she said quickly. "Stay here and don't get into any trouble. I should be back in a few hours. I'll comm the ship if anything goes wrong."

"What could go wrong?"

"Let's just say that I'm not venturing into the capitol building."

XXX

Torscha was glad to be out of the Slave I and into free air. Granted, Coruscant's air wasn't clean or refreshing at all, but at least it was moving. She stepped off of the ramp with as much grace as she could muster, flowing sea-green silk flowing out around her.

Much as she appreciated a good set of armor, sometimes it did feel good to be a woman again. There really was nothing like the hard work that went into cultivating beauty. Torscha's own hard work was rewarded by the slack-jawed look of the dock officer, a portly chap with greying hair who probably couldn't last through the first course. She paid him the docking fee, getting a place at the docks for about half of the usual price, and was on her way.

Torscha knew the city well. Many of her best jobs came from Coruscant, though today she was worried. There was enough worry in her to set her on edge. For all four days, she'd paced the cargo hold, cleaned her blasters over and over, and had done routine maintenance on her armor twice. She'd snapped at her companion, who'd had the decency to give her a ride, and she'd lost her confidence in his presence. She hadn't gathered herself up well enough to speak to him again, so she'd feigned anger and kept away from him.

She was insanely worried about her own job prospects. She'd been able to play it off as nothing to Fett, but knew that her clients had definitely found out by now. Her entire reputation, in one post on the holonet, had been completely blown to bits. She secretly hoped that a few clients would have enough respect for her to trust that she knew what she was doing, but knew that she wouldn't be so lucky.

Then there was the matter of her companion. Even before she'd taken off her clothes and planted herself in his bed, she'd known that he wasn't the average every day hunter. It was in the way he stood, the way he walked and the way he brought in a mark, without all the show and the fanfare that other hunters used. That and he wore armor. That was what had intrigued Torscha from the very beginning. She'd spent the past six years as a bounty hunter, and the last four living behind her armor. From the very beginning, she'd felt a certain connection to the other armored hunter, even though she hadn't seen his face. And when she finally did, she liked what she saw. He was young, probably close to her own age, and Torscha would have even ventured to consider him as attractive. He was the kind who could last through dessert in any case.

While she'd let him assume that she was upset that he'd called her a whore, she wasn't really. She'd been called much, much worse in her lifetime, and knew that she probably deserved the comment. Torscha tried not to make it too much of a habit, but she wasn't one to pass up good sex when it came her way, particularly when there was valuable information to be gained. Though he'd been the first to turn her down outright. She had been right there, completely naked, no foreplay required, and he had turned her down flat. No one had ever done that to her before. Torscha was attractive, though by no means exquisitely beautiful. She couldn't rival any Zeltron or Twi'lek or even many other women, but she'd never been turned down flat before. She'd been rejected on the basis of time constraints, illness and impotence, but never because of lack of interest. Challenge accepted.

With all these thoughts going through her mind, she made her way to a particular nightclub in the effective red-light district of Coruscant. This was the kind of place where the rich and powerful came to play without being seen. If you knew the right people, or at least knew what they liked, you could meet with just about anyone.

"If it isn't the mystery woman herself! I thought I told you never to come in here!" the enormous alien bouncer greeted her. Anyone would have thought he'd meant it as a threat, but for the smile on his face.

"Hey big guy," Torscha returned. "Is Drakkarr in?"

"He is, but what's a nice girl like you doing with a guy like him? Shouldn't you be off spending someone else's money instead of doing that hunter's dirty work?" He clearly hadn't heard the news.

"I'm not a nice girl and you know it," she replied. "But thank you anyway."

"Drakkarr's in the VIP room. Lurg is on today, he'll let you in."

"Thanks, big guy," she said before ducking into the nightclub.

The inside of the club was a lot less shabby than the outside. On the outside, it looked like any old hole in the wall, but on the inside, it was decked out to look like the luxury bars from the upper city, but with a lot less stipulations on the type of entertainment it provided. Scantily-clad girls were serving drinks, and made Torscha's low cut, midriff-baring ensemble look modest. Torscha ducked between these girls and their leery patrons to make her way to the VIP room, where one of her oldest clients was no-doubt holding court over everyone else in the establishment.

She proceeded with caution. Most of the men who frequented establishments like this were looking for something more than a show, and most of the women who came to places like this, were willing to offer more for a price. Torscha had been mistaken for a prostitute several times, and though many of these incidents ended humorously or embarrassingly, occasionally they could turn dangerous. She wasn't carrying any weapons, since it was considered bad taste for a higher-class agent to bring weapons to a deal. For bounty hunters, it was acceptable, since it was their trade, but it was considered rude for an agent to carry a weapon to make a deal.

Like the alien at the door had told her, the bouncer guarding the VIP room recognized her, and let her in without question. Clearly none of them had heard about her recent identity crisis, or they were just being nice to her. Inside, only a few rich males of varying species, though all of them were humanoid, lounged about on plush sofas and armchairs, entertained by a group of scantily-dressed Twi'lek dancers. The man she was looking had the seat front and center, she moved to take the seat beside him. He was a handsome man, in his late thirties with a sandy coloring and dark brown eyes that always seemed to be calculating something. He was the kind most women thought of as attractive before they knew what he was like on the inside.

"Meela," he greeted matter-of-factly. "Or is that even your real name?"

"It's not," she replied, matching his tone. "You've heard the news then."

"I have, so if you're looking for work, I'd suggest you try elsewhere."

"I'm not looking for me, for an associate of mine," she replied.

"Is that associate a new set of armor?" Drakkarr hadn't looked at her yet; he was still captivated by the half-naked women in front of him.

"No, a real person this time, and he's a real catch if I do say so myself."

"Forget it. I don't do business with the likes of you."

Torscha was silent for a second, feigning feminine sensitivity as she prepared herself for what she was about to say. "And does your wife know that you like it when a woman kisses your chest while you nail her or do she and I need to exchange notes?"

His head snapped to look at her straight in the eye. His whole body stiffened defensively. She knew that she'd taken away his advantage. "You wouldn't," he declared.

"I would," she replied, keeping her wits about her. "If you don't at least give me some options, I'll tell her everything, and if I don't come out of here in one piece, I have people who will."

"You're bluffing."

She kept a perfect Sabacc-face. "I don't bluff about work," she lied.

Drakkarr sighed heavily. "What do you want?"

"A few options at least, the best you can get me, and maybe some work for myself."

He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a datachip. He casually stuffed it into Torscha's hand, and she quickly and wordlessly inserted the chip into the slot on her datapad. "Take it. Take whatever work you want," he said, sounding resigned. Drakkarr was a man of extraordinary wealth, but most people didn't know that most of the wealth he had was actually his wife's and that if she left him, he would have absolutely nothing to fall back on. Torscha had gotten him to tell her that after she'd kissed his chest while he nailed her. The sex had been good, the information she'd gotten out of it had been better.

"I'll sent you a transmission when my client's taken a job," she replied. Without another word, she got up from her seat and slipped back out gracefully. Nothing except the expression on Drakkarr's face, which now was a look of absolute terror, had changed. Grinning to herself, she made her way out of the VIP area to find the exit. She just had one more stop to make before she was going back to the ship.

Colored lights reflected off of her pale skin as she moved back through the crowd towards the exit. Suddenly she felt an arm encircling her waist. She was pulled close to someone, and heard someone slur roughly into her ear, though she couldn't tell what he was saying. Torscha squirmed, but he held her in his grip. Her heart pounded. She wanted, more than anything, to be able to crawl into her armor. No one touched her when she was in her armor.

Her hands flew to her waist to try to pry his arm off of her, but he held firm, gripping one of her hips firmly. She felt cold dread wash over her as his other hand clamped down on one of her breasts, grasping it hard enough to cause Torscha to grit her teeth in pain. Her hands moved to pry away that hand, but he pushed them away. "Let's you and me go find a better use for those hands," he said crudely. "I'll pay you."

She took a moment to center herself, then she allowed her body to soften. She turned in his arms to face him, pressing herself into her would-be attacker. "Oh?" she said in a low, velvety voice that she knew most men found attractive. "I could think of a lot of better uses for my hands." She let one hand stray down to his manhood, brushing it through his trousers with her fingers. That got a satisfying response. Grinning, she suddenly clamped her hand down on his groin with more than enough pressure to cause pain. The status quo changed and Torscha took control. His arms flew away from her, as he began to babble, begging for her to release his manhood.

Her face turned into a vicious snarl. "I am not a whore," she spat. "Though I can't imagine you could get it up long enough to attract one." She released him, stepping away quickly. "Now get out of my way."

Angry now, she practically shoved her way out of the nightclub. Once outside, she breathed deeply, her diaphragm contracting painfully. She was on the verge of tears. The stress of finding new work was overwhelming her, washing over her in waves of panic. Mixed with the anger of being so crudely assaulted brought her emotions to a boiling point.

Then there was that word again. Whore. What that really all she was? What made her and Drakkarr so different that he could go about his conquests and be thought none the worse for it, but she could conquer more and be condemned for it? She gathered herself, not wanting her makeup to smear, and made her way towards her next destination, trying to clear her head for whatever confrontations lie ahead.

* * *

A/N: Well there's your first look into Torscha's head. We'll find out more about her later, though I can make no promises about how much later. Let me know what you think of this insight into her character.

Also, I have a little challenge for you readers out there. I need ideas for bounties, both to include in the next chapter, and to keep as stock ideas. If you have an idea for a bounty, I would love it if you would send it in a review or a PM. You'll even get credit in my nifty author's notes if I do use your ideas. I have some already, but could always use more suggestions.


	9. Chapter 9

Boba Fett felt like a child again as he waited on the Slave I for Torscha to come back. She said she would be gone for a few hours. What could possibly take a few hours? Then, as he stared out the windows at the gridlock of Coruscanti traffic, he realized exactly what could take a few hours. He had no idea where she was going. She could have been going to the other side of the planet for all he knew. The thought also crossed his mind that she very well could have been off-planet again by now and could be leaving him in the dust. But then again, she'd left all her armor and weapons here. It would take thousands upon thousands of credits to replace all that equipment, credits he was sure she didn't have. Her weapons and armor, therefore, could serve as some sort of collateral to ensure that she fulfilled her end of the bargain.

Hours waxed on. Fett cleaned his blasters out, preparing for whatever bounty he was going to get when Torscha got back. Cleaning his guns was a fairly routine job, something he did regularly. The simplicity of the task was comforting, in a way, the regularity of it. It took his mind off of other things. He cleaned each one of them with a delicate care. They were precious items, most of them customized. Along with his guns, he also performed routine maintenance on the various gadgets that were integrated into his armor. He checked that they were all in working order, and made adjustments where they were necessary.

He was running diagnostics on his HUD when he bothered to catch the time. It had been four hours since Torscha had left. There hadn't been any messages from her or anything. He said to himself that he wasn't worried about her, but at the same time, he kind of was. The streets were certainly dangerous this late at night, and especially in this part of the city. He reminded himself that she was a hunter, and could probably handle herself just fine. At least, she should have been able to get herself out of any unpleasant situations, and if she couldn't, she was perfectly capable of calling for help. Fett wouldn't have minded helping her out; he figured that he could probably use the action. It would at least be an excellent distraction.

The sensors on the Slave I were set to ping if anyone approached, and so far they had been completely quiet. Even so, he kept looking out the cockpit window, just in case. He made himself something to eat, cleared the memory on his HUD and even started running routine scans of his ship to check for any malfunctions or needed repairs, though he'd just repaired the ship on Tatooine. Where in blazes could she possibly be?

As if the ship could read his mind, and it frequently seemed like it did, the ship pinged, signaling that a person was approaching. He practically jumped out of his seat in the cockpit to look out the window. What was he doing? He didn't care that much about this person. She was just a liar who happened to be able to find him work. He just didn't want her getting caught.

It was definitely her. He could tell by her green, flowing garments. Once she got close, he opened up the ship so she could get in. He crammed on his helmet. He was already still wearing the rest of his armor, just to be ready for any action, so it was natural to put on his helmet too. It felt a little strange, but business was business, and he preferred to do business with his helmet on. He vaulted himself down to the steps that led to the cargo hold.

When he got all the way down to the cargo hold, Torscha was closing up the door behind her. She was holding a hand to her cheekbone, just under her eye. She glanced over at him, but otherwise faced away from him. "Take that off!" she snapped, indicating towards his helmet with her free hand. "I'm not talking to a T-visor!"

Reluctantly, he took off his helmet again. She appeared to be in a positively foul temper, and he didn't feel like aggravating it. She'd already seen him with his helmet off already anyways. She moved to sit on the cot she'd been using for the past four days. On instinct, his hands sought out the medkit he kept inside the cargo bay door. Inside, he found an artificial ice pack. "Let me look at that," he said, taking her by the wrist to move her hand from her cheek. She didn't move easily, but Fett eased her hand away from her face slowly. There was already a big bruise forming along her cheekbone and under her eye. It was definitely going to swell up. He sat down next to her on the cot, cracking the pack and feeling the chemicals release inside, creating an icy sensation. Gently, he put it on the bruised. "Hold that there, it'll keep it from getting worse."

"I know that," she grumbled. She put her hand up to hold the pack to her cheek herself. Their fingers brushed slightly. "But thanks."

"What happened?"

"Just the local nightlife," she explained quickly. "I got you work." She pulled her datapad out of the pouch at her side, where it always was. She clicked it on with one hand and pulled up a file. She handed it to him. "I got you a few options, and you can take your pick."

He took the datapad from her, though she clicked through she clicked through the options herself, explaining them as she went along. "This first one looks easy, a simple catch, but the pay is really good for just bringing in a smuggler. My guess is that you can expect a bit of a fight." She clicked to the next job. "This one's more of the same, but there are two targets. These two might put up less of a fight than the other one, but they're going to be harder to find. I've run into these two before, and they're pretty good at hiding." She clicked to the next job on her list. "This last one is interesting. It's a data retrieval job. The client believes that some data has been stolen from his corporation, and would like it identified and retrieved. I don't know if you do jobs like this, but it's pretty good money too."

They were good jobs, considering the circumstances. He wondered what she'd had to do to get such good options, and also where that ugly bruise had come from. She was probably going to end up with a black eye, no matter how many cold packs she put on it. Leaning onto his knees, he looked through the three options again. They definitely weren't the only options she had, but they were the three best jobs. There were always going to be jobs that were exciting, but that didn't pay enough for the amount of work involved. Then there were going to be the jobs that were just too small for the amount of skill the hunter possessed. Torscha had done well in picking jobs.

"How long do I have to think about it?" he asked.

"As long as you need if no one else takes them," she replied. "Want to sleep on it?"

"Yeah," he said. He took another look over each of the three jobs, refreshing each of them in his mind. Then he handed the datapad back to Torscha and got up to go back up to the living quarters. It was late. He was tired, and he wasn't inclined to be around his companion for too long. She was being pleasant now, but he could see that underneath her calm exterior, she had other things going on. She seemed stiff and a little bothered. Fett figured that it was because of whatever had happened to her face.

As he reached the steps up to the cockpit, she stopped him with her voice. Instead of the cool, collected voice she'd used already, she was a little more hesitant. "There is one other option," she said. "But there's a catch."

He turned back to her, leaning against the wall. "What is it?"

She drew in a slow breath, as if trying to figure out what she was going to say. "A client of mine, as well as being a wealthy businessman, is the head of a large organized crime syndicate here on Coruscant. Recently, rumors were confirmed that a rival organization is forming, and this group has… expressed that they will go to any means necessary to destroy their competition," she explained. This job already sounded more intriguing than the others. It was certainly more dangerous. After a pause, Torscha continued. "The status quo is already precarious enough on this planet because of the... change in management. My client wants to avoid the possibility of a gang war by cutting the head off the new organization. It's young enough that destroying its leadership should effectively remove the threat."

"So what does the client want a hunter to do?"

"Kill the leadership," she said simply.

"So he wants to eliminate his competition?"

"To prevent further bloodshed, yes."

"Then why doesn't he use his own people?"

"He wants this done carefully. His own people's methods are too brutal. Too unsophisticated. He needs assassins, not soldiers, and he doesn't make a habit of keeping assassins on call."

"What's the catch?"

"My client doesn't trust one hunter on this. He wants a pair of hunters on this one."

Fett paused, considering whether or not he even wanted to hear more. He rarely worked with other hunters, and didn't know any hunters on Coruscant. He looked at the floor, contemplating for a few moments. "How much?" he asked quietly.

"Even divided in half between two hunters, it's more than any of the others. It's a really good deal, and I'm the only one who knows about it right now."

He nodded and took a deep breath. "I don't have anyone to work with."

She laughed. He was suddenly confused. "Yes you do," she laughed.

He looked at her for a few seconds. Then realized exactly what she was suggesting. It was difficult to think of her as also being a bounty hunter, dressed up like she was. She didn't look like someone who had ever held a blaster in their life or who could fight off an attacker. She had a huge bruise on her cheek for crying out loud! He let out a short huff of a laugh, "you've got to be kidding me."

She stood up, letting the hand with the ice pack fall to her side, revealing the darkening bruise on her cheekbone. "I get it," she said. "You think I can't fight because I'm a girl." She put the hand that wasn't still holding the ice pack on her hip. She met his eyes with a challenging gaze, though she seemed more amused than angry.

"Says the girl with the bruise on her face."

"It was four to one and I took one punch to the face. I wasn't even armed."

"Four to one?"

"Yes."

He raised his eyebrows at her.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "I got a little smart with somebody, but he was trying to solicit me, sending his thugs after me was just uncalled for."

"He tried to solicit you…" Fett was confused. She apparently had no reservations about sleeping with people for information and entertainment, but got affronted when people offered to pay her for it. How exactly was that supposed to make any sense?

"I can't be bought, okay. When it's on my terms, fine."

Fett was quiet for several seconds. He still didn't like her lack of moral fiber on the issue. Truthfully, it made him somewhat nervous. "Four to one, huh?"

"Yeah. Four to one."

XXX

The money had been too good. He'd taken it, and had done what he hoped wasn't the biggest fool mistake of his life and had signed on with Torscha as his partner. She ventured out again to accept the job, and returned with more detailed information and no new bruises. He felt increasingly like she had tricked him into getting work for herself too. Still, the amount of money offered for this job was amazing, even split between the two of them.

This wasn't a petty job, or a small one. In fact, the reasons behind it were good. Fett didn't like the jobs that clients cowered behind, where they asked the hunter to kill their enemies so they would not have to face their fears. This was different in that it was not a question of cowardice, but of morals. The client had asked for this job to be done in order to prevent further bloodshed, and prevent the status quo from changing unfavorably. Boba Fett knew, like every bounty hunter, that if he kept the status quo in place, the people on top would hire him again. Maintaining the status quo was a lot easier than changing it.

The opposition gang was using the apartment space above a Trandoshan Restaurant as a makeshift headquarters. They used all the typical security precautions a growing crime syndicate needed, complete with a password-protected entrance that required three separate security codes to gain access. Of course, that was implying the Fett and Torscha would even be going into the front door. The consensus between the two in their planning stages was that entering through the front door was completely out of the question. That would have a greater chance of facilitating a full-scale fight versus a quiet, clean job. Drawing the targets out and assassinating them the traditional way, both agreed, was also out of the question. There was too much room for error.

He felt more comfortable working with Torscha than he'd expected to. He'd expected her to be as difficult and sarcastic as she was when she wasn't working, but she wasn't. She proved to have a strategic mind and a practical approach to bounty hunting, not entirely unlike himself. They ultimately agreed, after a great deal of discussion, to enter the building from the rooftop. The leaders made the top floor of the building their operating space, while the floors between them and the ground-floor restaurant were reserved for their underlings. That was about the extent of the information Torscha's client had been able to provide. Once the leaders were cut off from their underlings - a simple matter of disabling the lifts - killing them and getting out would be simple.

The difficulty would be in the timing. The way the building was designed, the lift was in the center, inaccessible from the outside. Fett and Torscha would have to get inside and avoid detection until the lift was completely disabled. Then the underlings, who could potentially number anywhere from ten to one-hundred, would be hard-pressed to find a way upstairs without scaling the walls, which would take time and skill that they probably didn't have. It seemed like a basic enough plan. Infiltrate from the roof, disable the lift, then eliminate the targets. There were four targets that were must-kills, the only four that could be deemed capable of perpetuating the organization.

According to Torscha, and her datapad, most of the information they had received came from slicers, who had sliced a stolen a datapad from a middle-ranking member of the organization. It was supposedly reliable.

They had one shot at this. If they killed anything less than all four of the leaders, they would lose the job, and the money. If they didn't get them all at the same time, the survivors would go into hiding, and it could be months before anyone could find them again. The way Torscha put it, they needed to grab the organization in a strangle-hold, then cut the head off. Fett didn't particularly like the decapitation analogy, but, for obvious reasons, didn't say anything.

Once the plan was decided, Torscha sat back, a promising smirk upon her healing face. Due to the effectiveness of the ice pack, her eye hadn't swelled shut, but a large, purplish-blue bruise surrounded it and covered her cheekbone. She hadn't told him any more details about what had happened, nor had Fett really wanted any. Still, he couldn't help but hold a healthy amount of curiosity for his partner and particularly for how she fought. As much time as he'd now spent around her, he had never seen her fight, or even shoot a blaster. He knew she had a reputation, but that reputation was only hearsay and nothing he had actually been able to confirm with his own eyes.

Without saying anything, the two left the cockpit, where they had been strategizing. Fett went to the living quarters of the ship to put on his armor, and Torscha retreated to the cargo hold, presumably to don her own for the first time since leaving Tatooine. It was a tedious process that he'd grown so accustomed to, he could have done it in his sleep. Chest plates, shoulder plates, and gauntlets all went on with special care that he reserved especially for his armor, and the nearly-ceremonious way in which he put it all on. He checked all of the devices and tools built into his gauntlets, all the pouches on his belt, and the weapons concealed in about ever available space. Confident he had everything, Fett took a deep breath. The task of getting all of his equipment together did something to put his mind at ease about each job, but there was always this feeling in the pit of his stomach, the crazy feeling of anticipation that, no matter how many bounties he took, he would never really shake. It would rack him over until he went to work, then it would go away altogether.

He took another deep breath, then grabbed his helmet and his trusted EE-3 and headed down to the cargo hold.

XXX

Torscha suited up in silence. This would be the first time since she'd started wearing armor at the age of fifteen that she would actually be suited up as herself. When she had first put on her helm, which had been dark grey at the time, she had decided that no one needed to know that there was really a woman underneath. After that mission, she'd painted her armor red and set off to make a name for herself. And in the space of four years since she'd put on that armor, she certainly had.

By the time she was seventeen, she had established relationships with some of the highest-paying clients in the Core-worlds, not on the level where they sought her out specifically, but on the level that if she asked for work, they'd usually give her some. She had clawed her way up from being a completely unknown bounty hunter, to being one of the most sought-after rookie contenders in the business. Then, just before she'd turned nineteen, she received an offer to contract exclusively with a Hutt on Tatooine for several months. At the time, she'd been short a ship, and saw the Hutt's offer as a means of earning enough to buy a new ship of her own, as her first had been left completely unsalvageable. In the meantime, her contract with the Hutt had provided her with use of a ship as well as a place to live and food to eat in addition to her regular working fees.

But the pressure had gotten to be too much. For four years, she'd lived a ridiculous triple-life. In armor, she was Torsch, the silent hunter who, for the most part, replaced words with a presence that could scare the spice out of smuggler's holds. Out of armor, she had been Meela, the sexy and businesslike agent who worked out the details and could charm the pants off whoever she wanted. Only in the darkness of her chambers and the solitude of space could she actually just be Torscha, the actual person underneath whatever disguises she was wearing. Six months into her contract, she still hadn't had enough money to buy and equip a ship of her own, and she had broken under the pressure.

She bit back the frustration as she latched her leg plates into place, the metal clattering as the pieces snapped into place. It was the most frustrated she'd ever been, though she hid it under cool sarcasm and smart commentary. Of course, that smart commentary had come back to give her a black eye, but it wouldn't be the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last.

Self-conscious about her own femininity, she grabbed a long strip of cloth from her armor case. She wrapped it around her chest, next to her skin, holding her breasts flat. Her armor had been made for a man and wouldn't fit comfortably without some… adjustments. She had been doing this since she'd been sixteen and had nearly blown her cover. She could have adjusted her armor to fit her properly since she didn't need to hide her gender anymore, but instead she wrapped the cloth around herself like a security blanket. Last night had proved that she wasn't going to get any respect as a woman, so she'd keep trying her luck as a man.

Over that, she pulled on a typical shirt for wearing under armor. Then, before she put on her plates, she sat on her cot to deal with her hair. Her hair had been grown past her hips, in the tradition of her mother's people, the only tradition Torscha had kept. She quickly braided it into two long braids, then pinned them around her head. This was the most important part of her routine. As she braided up her hair, she centered herself on the job she was about to do. She cleared her mind of all the frustration and all the pressure she felt, and let herself become the hunter.

Finally, she slid on her boots and put on her chest plate. It was a simple piece, but it allowed for just the right amount of flexibility for melee combat with all the protection she needed for a real fire fight. She had known the armor was hers from the moment she'd seen it, and it had taken six months of low-class bounties to afford it, and even more to get through all the customization it had received over the past four years. More carefully, she put on her shoulder plates and then her gauntlets, which were equipped with all the tools she'd come to find useful over the years. She tied on her belt and holsters, equipping herself with a pair of blaster pistols instead of a heavy blaster for this job. She slung her vibrosword over her shoulder and then her own helmet.

As if right on cue, her makeshift partner descended the steps from the upper part of the ship. He didn't say anything to her, but nodded in acknowledgement, a gesture she returned. She checked her weapons again, but watched him out of the corner of her eye. With a skilled hand, he put on a jetpack, something Torscha had never tried before. There was something about jetpacks that she didn't trust.

"Those things will kill you, you know."

* * *

A/N: Please take a moment and use the lovely box below to leave me a review. All reviewers get Mando Ale and Uj cake! I'm still accepting ideas for potential jobs for our hunters to go on (together and individually). I have most of the plot-relevant jobs planned, but I could always use some work as filler or for in-text references.

Next chapter we get to see our two hunters in the field together, and we get to see Torscha in action for the first time!


	10. Chapter 10

Boba Fett cradled his reliable EE-3 with both hands, keeping a lookout. Behind him, Torscha knelt on one knee in front of the door. The door was sealed, but not nearly as well guarded as the front door. According to Torscha, it was a simple enough task to slice the door, but she had already taken several minutes on the lock. The time seemed to crawl as she fiddled with the device on the door, though the chrono in his HUD said that it hadn't been longer than about seven or eight minutes.

"Dammit!" she hissed as the system locked her out again. Fett heard her frustration through the private comm channel she'd set up between their helmets. That way they could converse without being heard by others.

"Need help?" Fett asked.

"No," she sighed. "This a new Correllian lock system, and I don't have the upgrades for it. I'm going to have to slice it by hand." She grabbed another tool from one of the pockets on her utility belt and popped open the control panel for the door.

"What do you mean you don't have the upgrades?" Fett asked, starting to match her frustration.

"I can only get the upgrades as fast as the professional splicers can get them, and might I remind you that I was stuck living on the Outer Rim for six months."

"And you'd still be stuck there if it weren't for me."

"Will you shut up and let me work?" She busied her hands with pulling out the wiring, sorting through them with her gloved fingers. Fett went back to watching her back, in case anyone had suspected that they might be coming. It wasn't likely, but there was always a chance that a stray person would come across them, even though they were on the roof. They couldn't take any chances. This job had to be done in one, swift strike. It took her several more minutes of switching wires to disarm the lock. It certainly seemed like she'd done this before, and she probably had. Slicing locks was an incredibly useful skill for a bounty hunter, since quite a few marks liked to hide behind locked doors, thinking they would be safe.

The door opened with a swoosh. "Finally!" Torscha exclaimed within the confines of their comm channel. She put her tools back into her the pouch on her utility belt. It was strange, seeing her in armor and actually knowing who was underneath. Instead of her face, which she seemed to always be using to her absolute and full advantage, there was a completely expressionless helmet staring back at him. In place of her bright, green eyes, there was a reflective visor. Most people, when they wore armor on an irregular basis, moved awkwardly in them. Even Boba Fett still felt awkward back in his armor. But Torscha, she wore her armor as if it were her skin.

She went down the stairs first, and Fett followed her, watching his back in case they were followed. He also kept an eye on Torscha, in case she had other plans for him. He didn't suspect her of any foul play against him, but there was always that chance. Trusting the wrong partners had been the death of many bounty hunters, and wouldn't be his end. Not today.

At the bottom of the stairs, there was another door. Torscha silently pulled one of her twin blaster pistols from the holster at her hip. Standing where the doorframe would provide something of a shield should they be met with blaster fire, she opened up the door. Fett took the other side of the doorframe. Both were ready to shoot when the door whooshed open, but there was no one on the other side, at least no one they could see. Fett indicated forward with his rifle, indicating that he would go first, and that Torscha should take up behind him. Stepping gingerly, to make as little noise as possible, he moved forward. Torscha fell in behind him.

The layout of the building was simple. Around the outside were rooms of a variety of sizes. The center was a large, open space, with the elevator smack in the middle of it. There was a problem with open spaces. There was little cover, and the enemy had plenty of vantage points. However, in order to cut off the targets, Fett and his partner needed to cut off the lift so they could minimize their opponents. The hallway they were in opened out into this area, and both of the hunters took a moment to check around the corner. Everything seemed quiet, though anyone could come out of any of the doors at any second.

"I'll disable the lift," Torscha's voice said over the comms. Her helmeted head jerked in the direction of the lift. "Cover me." She didn't even have to ask. As she moved with all the fluidity of a Tuskcat, he fell in behind her, watching everything through the 360-degree vision on his HUD. If anyone came out of any of the doors, he would know it, and they would go down quickly. Torscha holstered her blaster and pulled out her tools again. She got in the lift and opened up the utility panel. "Hold the door," she said. Fett stepped into the lift doors, keeping them from closing while she worked.

She worked as quickly as she could, finding wires and disconnecting them. The way lifts were made, there were multiple systems that needed to be cut in order to disable them entirely. It was a precaution taken so that lifts wouldn't break down easily. They both had known going in that it would take several minutes worth of work to get the lift out of commission, but at least it would contain the fight to the top floor. It was eerie. Fett had expected at least a few guards, but there had been none at all.

A few minutes passed, and the only sound was the sound of Torscha, working as quickly as she could on the controls to the lift. Suddenly, one of the doors opened. The information downloaded into his HUD identified the Aqualish as being a mid-level enforcer. The enforcer moved to grab the blaster strapped to his leg, but Fett was quicker. He took down the Aqualish with one round from the EE-3. "Torscha, hurry up," he warned. The sound of blaster fire had attracted attention, and more doors were opening. Fett stepped out of the doorway, not thinking about it, to take down the approaching gang members. He took them down with ease, but then heard a yelp through his comm. The door to the lift had shut behind him, and according to the panel above the door, Torscha was headed down.

There was a string of curse words from Torscha's end of the comm, most of them in Huttese, but with a few other colorful expressions thrown in. The plan had already gone awry, and they hadn't talked about a contingency plan for this.

There was nothing he could do for her right that second. There were about four gang members of varying levels coming after him, and he had work to do. He quickly ended the enforcer closest to him with a round from his EE-3. He had been shooting since he was just a boy, when his father had first taught him to shoot. Now, he rarely missed. He took out another quickly, but more were approaching. He was inside, so he couldn't use his jetpack, but he did have several other tools at his disposal. Holding his EE-3 firmly in one hand, he grabbed his grenade launcher off of his belt. Taking only a second to aim, he launched a grenade towards a group of gangsters, a safe distance away from himself. They dove out of the way but to no avail, they were all knocked off their feet from the blast and thrown every which way.

Behind him, Fett heard the optimistic -ding- of the lift and the whoosh of the doors. With a collective thud, three gangsters fell out of the open door. Whether they were dead or alive, Fett didn't know, or care. Torscha stood inside, a short vibroblade brandished in one hand.

"Having fun yet?" she asked over the comms.

Fett didn't respond, but he didn't need to. There were more adversaries coming and they needed to finish the job. Counting the guys Torscha had taken out in the lift, they had killed or disabled eleven, and these were just the mid-level guys who happened to be stationed on the top floor. The targets had to be hiding in a back room, hoping not to have to put themselves in harm's way. Through his 360-degree vision, he saw Torscha rip out the final wire on the lift's control panel, causing the lights to short out. They had tried doing this the quiet way, avoiding detection until the fighting began, but it was too late for that now.

With a flash of red, he saw her leap out of the lift, vibroblade replaced by a blaster pistol in each hand. She immediately joined the firefight, removing three enforcers with a single, clean shot each. There were only a couple left, and Fett and Torscha finished them off quickly. Then things went quiet again. Fett held his blaster at the ready. "What now?" he asked.

"We get our targets," Torscha replied. She sounded a little out of breath. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

The two of them knew which door they were going to. On the other side of the big, open space, there was a set of double doors, which hadn't been opened. Logic said that there targets were probably in there, likely with a last line of defense that would put the firefight that had just ended to shame. Without needing to consult each other, the two seasoned bounty hunters positioned themselves on either side of the door, where they would have a vantage point over the whole room.

Fett readied his blaster rifle, and Torscha raised one of her pistols, poised to open the door with her other hand. The two hunters looked at each other, then back at the door. Torscha hit the button and the door slid open. Fett's HUD immediately singled out each of the individuals in the room. There were ten people in the room. Four of them were the targets he and Torscha had been sent to kill, and the other six of them were guards of varying sizes and races.

As was to be expected, the gangsters were well prepared for the assault. They were poised to fire even as the door was opening. A grenade came flying towards the door, and Fett witnessed Torscha dive like an acrobat, rolling into a crouched position that gave her a good aim at the whole room. While she had caught their attention with her acrobatics, Fett stepped in through the door. Used to it, he hardly flinched as the grenade went off just past the doorway. Blaster fire zoomed near his head, but the source was quickly taken down by a few, clean shots from Torscha's pistols.

Completely in tandem, as if they had worked together before, their shots coordinated. They may have been outnumbered and outgunned, but these gangsters and their bodyguards were not match for the two hunters. The survivors of the initial firefight took cover. Two of the actual targets were dead, another was wounded, and the fourth had taken shelter behind the furniture. Torscha holstered her guns and pulled out her vibrosword instead; Fett knew that melee could get the job done faster, but that it would also leave his partner without cover. His cunning took over. Pausing from firing his blaster rifle, he reached for his gauntlet. Pressing one of the buttons, a spray of fire emitted from the built-in flame-thrower, lighting up one of the couches in the room, and spreading to one of the remaining guards.

Torscha, as he knew she would, used this distraction to cut down the final two guards, with precise slashes from her vibrosword. She was as good a shot as any, but clearly melee was her preference. Her movements were clean and graceful, and her slashes were as well-aimed as they were powerful. The skill was there, but the technique was not from any school that he was aware of. Fett changed position away from the flames, and fired upon the last unharmed target, hitting him square in the chest, killing him, while Torscha finished off the wounded target with a clean slash of her blade.

The room fell silent. The display on Fett's HUD showed that all four targets were dead. Four of the six guards were dead as well, and the other two were rendered unconscious for the moment. Objective accomplished. Torscha disengaged her vibrosword and sheathed it again over her shoulder.

Suddenly, water began to rain from the ceiling, the building's internal systems having detected a fire. Both hunters began laughing, though only they could hear within the privacy of their helmets and their internal comms.

"I can honestly say that this is a first," said Torscha over the comm.

"What? Working with another hunter?" asked Fett, still getting over the humorous ending to the firefight.

"No. Setting off a fire alarm," she replied.

Caught up in the humor of the moment, Fett hardly had time to notice that one of the enforcers behind Torscha had begun to pull himself up using an overturned armchair. Now he was reaching for a blaster. Fett fired instinctively, but missed by mere inches. Torscha reacted quickly; she kicked the blaster out of enemy hands while reaching for her own. Instead of killing him, Torscha simply pistol-whipped him right across the face, rendering the human enforcer unconscious. Had he not been wearing a helmet, Fett would have raised his eyebrows expectantly. Torscha just turned back to him and shrugged. "Somebody's got to live to tell the tale."

"Let's get out of here," Fett said. He didn't really want the water to start soaking through the layers under his armor. He hadn't intended on getting wet, and hadn't dressed for it.

"Couldn't agree with you more," she replied.

XXX

"Well, I still want to know what happened in that elevator," Fett said as he opened the cargo hold door of Slave I.

"Well I wasn't going to let them get away, so when I saw the three of them outside the lift, I grabbed two of them and the third one followed. They weren't expecting it so they were easy," Torscha replied through the comm. Then she reached up and popped off her helmet, taking a deep breath of free air. The braids around her head were mussed from the fight and the back of her neck was a sheen of sweat. Fett knew she was a woman, but it still felt strange to see that helmet come off and a woman underneath. He took off his own helmet, and the cowl that kept the helmet from rubbing uncomfortably against his scalp. He ran a gloved hand over his hair, noting that he needed to get it cut again.

Torscha turned towards him and looked him up and down, as if assessing him after having seen him fight. "Nice blaster. Or are you just happy to see me?" Torscha asked, indicating towards the EE-3. Her face was flushed from the fight, and her eye and cheek were still purple, but she looked more than pleased with herself. A grin spread across her face as her eyes glanced down again suggestively, then back up to his face.

Fett felt himself turn bright red, causing her to grin even wider. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out at first. Why was she so good at making him feel so awkward? "Torscha, I thought you said you didn't-"

She cut him off. "Oh, come now. That was before I saw underneath that helmet." She stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his chest plates. "Besides, sex is always better after a good fight." She had the uncanny ability to make him incredibly uncomfortable.

"No," he said, stepping back away from her. "I told you, I'm not interested."

"I'm just kidding!" she laughed, removing herself to a safe distance away. "Geez, You are such a prude. Are you… defective or something?"

"I am not!" Fett protested.

"Whatever you say," she replied, pulling off her vibrosword. Then she reached to unclasp her chest plate.

"Shouldn't we go collect the bounty?" he asked, thankful for the available change of subject.

"Not yet," she said, removing the plate entirely. "Give them time to get the news and confirm it. They'll call me when they're ready to pay up."

"Oh, okay," Fett replied, feeling awkward at his lapse in logical thinking. She had just gotten him so flustered. "Are you hungry?"

"Oh so you like to take them out to dinner before you let them under your armor?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow.

"What!? No! It's not-" he began to protest, turning as red as her armor, and sputtering over the words.

Another wide grin spread over her face. "Only kidding," she replied.

"Damn you, will you stop doing that!"

"No, I'm having too much fun."

XXX

"And that is for you," Torscha said, passing a credit chip Fett's way. "Twenty thousand credits. It's all there."

Fett nodded as he took the credit chip from her and slipped it into a pouch on his utility belt. An awkward silence passed between the two.

"So this is where we part ways then," Torscha said.

"Yeah," Fett replied.

"Okay." She took several minutes to shut up her cases and remove them from Slave I's cargo hold. They looked heavy, but a woman of her fighting capabilities could certainly carry them with relative ease. She set them down as she reached the bottom of the ramp. Fett had followed her, respectfully seeing her off of his ship. He was looking forward to having the ship to himself again, and not having to fend off her joking advances.

Abruptly, she held out a hand to shake. He shook it, not fearing that she was going to pull anything on him. "Goodbye, Boba Fett," she said, using his full name. "If you ever need a job, or a partner, give me a call."

"Goodbye, Torscha," he replied. "And I think I'll be fine on my own."

"See you around," she said. Then she turned to pick up her cases again. She left the docking bay without looking back.

Fett didn't watch her leave, but retreated back up the ramp into the cargo bay. Then he retired himself up to the cockpit to check the holonet for what might be next.

* * *

A/N: Hoped you enjoyed the action. This was a fairly mundane action sequence. Lots of shooting, not too much of anything else yet. We're only fighting the grunts at this point, no one with too many complex skills.

Please take a moment and use the lovely box below to leave a review. I'm still offering Mando Ale and Uj cake to reviewers.

No bounty hunters were harmed in the making of this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thanks for your patience. I moved back into college this weekend and quickly finished this chapter tonight, since I may not get to write more for the next few days. This Chapter is really more of an interlude, and I have the beginning of the next chapter started, as it was one of the first bits of the story that I wrote.

* * *

There was a long, brightly-lit hallway in front of her. It looked sterile, so unlike the grimy environments she was so used to. She had no idea where she was; this place was utterly unfamiliar to her. She wandered forward. She wasn't wearing her armor; she had nothing except the dress that hung off her small frame. She stumbled forward, looking over her shoulder, constantly checking to see that no one was behind her. Her breath was ragged. She continued on, down the length of the long hallway, a sense of urgency taking over her with each passing step.

She stumbled, grasping at the wall for support. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps behind her. She didn't bother looking over her shoulder to see who was following her. With awkward, forced movements, she tried to run away. Her body, wracked with fatigue and shaking from effort, only made it a few steps before collapsing beneath her. Using her arms, she desperately tried to crawl away. She felt strong hands grab her roughly around the waist, pulling her up off the floor. She fought, but her attacker was much stronger, and dragged her backwards. She clawed at the arms around her waist, but to no success.

She heard herself scream.

Torscha Lahiri's green eyes snapped open and she gasped for breath. Her whole body was shaking, and a sheen of cold sweat covered her all over. Blinking in utter confusion and horror, she fumbled around for her blaster, which she always kept by the side of the bed when she was sleeping alone. By the time she felt the cool metallic blaster under her fingers, she had realized where she was. She was in her cramped, rented apartment in Coruscant. She rolled onto her back, chest heaving. The images started to fade and her heart started to slow back down to a normal pace. She looked over at the chrono on the wall. It was the middle of the night, and she'd only slept for a few hours. She knew that she probably wasn't getting any more sleep tonight.

"Kriff," she muttered.

All hunters had nightmares, especially the good ones. The hunters who rarely failed, who made the job look easy, were successful every day because every night they failed. It drove them, and prepared them. Hunters had tried so many things to sleep without the nightmares. Some tried alcohol, others tried spice. Torscha personally preferred promiscuous sex and the occasional bottle of cheap, but strong liquor.

She pulled herself out of bed gracefully. The only thing she could do to easy away the dream was to train. It would reassure her that she wouldn't get caught, and that she could get away if she ever was. She pulled her long, limp hair, which had been hanging loose around her shoulders, into a messy bun, breathing deeply. Starting slowly, she stretched her muscles, which were stiff from sleep. Torscha was flexible, her skill set provided a necessity for it. First and foremost, she was an infiltrator, but as far as combat went, she preferred melee. True, she could fire a blaster efficiently, and probably with an above-average skill, but she wasn't about to win any awards for it. She was as good of a slicer as she needed to be, a decent pilot and even a makeshift mechanic or medic when the occasion called for it.

All of these were skills she'd picked up and developed out of the need to survive. While none of them had the refinement of professional training, they combined to create a cohesive skill set that proved advantageous for a career in bounty hunting. Untrained as she was, obsessive tendencies were already becoming evident in the nineteen-year-old hunter. Even the slightest mistake was able to set her on edge. She'd made far too many mistakes in the last job. She'd been off of her game; she had spent too much time on that dusty wasteland of a planet that her skills had begun to wane. Now that she didn't have the diversion of another person, she faced the facts about how that last job had gone.

She had taken too long on the door security, and on the elevator panel. She should not have needed the distraction her partner had created by lighting half of the room on fire; a hunter of her reputation should have been able to clear that room easily. Not one of those adversaries seemed to have been able to fire a blaster properly. She'd blamed her technology at the time, but now it was time to stop making excuses for her own shortcomings. This job had gone relatively well, but the performance she had given wouldn't be adequate for a higher-class job. Mistakes like that were how hunters got caught and killed.

She felt the blood pulsing through her muscles as she warmed them up. In the patch of light cast onto the floor by Coruscant's night lights through the open curtains, she stretched her legs, first one and then the other. Once she felt sufficiently stretched, she began working each of her muscle groups in turn, abdominals, thighs, calves, back, arms. She paid special attention to her right leg, which had been injured on her last solo job on Ord Mantell. It had given her the tell-tale limp that, to a trained eye, would have given away her secret identity.

She became agitated, thinking about how she had lost the security of her double-life. She'd caved under pressure and had lost a lot of her reputation. She became too restless for the mundane muscle toning that usually helped put her mind at rest. She padded silently to the other side of the one-room apartment and pulled out her vibrosword instead. It glinted in the golden light of the city outside. She went to the center of the room, which provided several square feet of space, seeing as Torscha had minimal furniture considering her situation. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then she let all her anger, her frustration and her panic out in a string of elaborate and ferocious movements of her blade, cutting down imaginary enemies with speed and precision.

A long while later, exhausted from physical exertion, she dropped her blade to the ground with a clatter. Gasping, she let herself collapse onto a sitting position on the ground. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she curled into a ball on the floor.

XXX

One Month Later

The sun glinted off the surface of Slave I as it glided down to a landing platform, high above the surface of Coruscant. Boba Fett had an acquisition in his cargo hold, a list of potential jobs and enough credits to keep him steady for the next several months. His reputation was building up again more quickly than he had expected. The last few jobs had brought him off-planet, to Byss and Ord Mantell. Most of the jobs he was getting were still tracking smugglers and debtors, but they were getting to be higher in profile and frequently more dangerous.

Once he was safely landed, he powered down the ship's flight engines. He sat back in the pilot's chair, running a hand through his thick, black hair. He took a deep breath, then pulled on his cowl and put his helmet on over it, blinking as his eyes adjusted to looking through his HUD. It was mid-afternoon, a perfect time to bring in his latest catch. On Ord Mantell, he'd caught up with the leader of a counterfeiting racket who had gotten into the business of creating fake passes into secured areas of a large manufacturing corporation, presumably for the purpose of corporate espionage.

The leader himself hadn't put up much of a fight, but he'd been well-guarded. Not as well as the gang he and Torscha had taken off the radar, but enough to give him a much-welcomed challenge, and some much-welcomed profit. He consulted his data readouts in his HUD to ensure that he knew where he was going before getting up and heading down into the cargo hold.

His prisoner was alive, and held, unmoving by common, energized restraints. He was a mastermind, not a martial artist, which meant that he would be easy to take in. He wasn't going to have to be sedated and brought in unconscious like some of Fett's other prisoners over the past month. That Byss job had been rather nasty. A group of enforcers had gone rogue and their previous boss had wanted them eliminated before they sold gang secrets to enemy organizations. It was a mission of ambiguous morality to say the least, but most bounties were affairs of questionable morality at best. Fett consoled his personal sense of justice by noting that these enforcers probably had it coming anyways, and that he was just in it for the money regardless of the real motive behind it.

In that job, nothing had gone right. His targets were not at the expected location, and so he'd had to backtrack halfway around the planet to gather some intel. While doing that, he'd inadvertently started a bar brawl, accidentally wandered into a red-light district and had been solicited, and had nearly lost a boot in a mud hole. Once he'd actually found his targets, taking them out was easy. They provided little actual trouble, as their main game was usually intimidation and street fighting, fronts that didn't work on the relatively hardened and well-trained Boba Fett. The fight hadn't gone exactly as he'd planned, but it had worked out in the end. He had cursed himself later for not realizing that nothing in bounty hunting ever really went as planned.

Wordlessly, he reattached his jetpack to his back. He had no intentions of using it, but it made for a good impression. He wanted to be as intimidating as possible, so that maybe he'd get hired again. Word had already started to spread about him and his skills in the bounty hunting field. He had moved up on the unspoken hierarchy of bounty hunters.

It seemed that his one-time partner had made out well on their shared job too. From what Fett could tell of his occasional scans of the holonet for news, was that she had gotten a few jobs of a similar scale to his own. She, however, had elected to stay on-planet, or so it would seem. Nothing said it outright, but he suspected that she'd taken the data-retrieval job that he'd turned down. It seemed like the natural choice for her, as she obviously had superior skills as an infiltrator.

He didn't speak to his acquisition, and the acquisition didn't say anything either. Fett shut off the energy field that kept the prisoner at bay, and snapped energy binders onto his wrists instead. There was a wistful look in the acquisition's eyes. He was doubtlessly one of the many legitimate businessmen who had delved into illegitimate business in order to make a few dollars on the side. But whatever his personal story was, Fett didn't want to know.

He led the acquisition out of his ship. He stopped to pay his docking fee, recognizing the dock officer as the same one who had been on-duty when he'd first returned to Coruscant. "Where's your better 'alf, eh?" he asked, his accent thick.

"What!?" Fett snapped, losing his composure for a moment.

"Your better 'alf… the real elegant dame you had with you last time you docked in this part of the city," he replied. "Couldn't forget a ship like that, or a girl like that either."

"Uhhh… I… Er… I work alone," he replied, escaping the conversation quickly. He pushed his acquisition roughly past the dock officer. Fett could hear the acquisition chuckle under his breath. "Quiet," he warned.

XXX

"The bounty hunter, Boba Fett," announced yet another pretentious major domo. These slimy majordomos were becoming far too common in his life.

Fett led his acquisition along like a trained bantha and unceremoniously turned him in. There was something monotonous about bringing in acquisitions. Clients and their associates treated it with such ceremony, while most hunters just wanted to get paid and get back to their lives and on to the next job. Fett was no exception. For right now, he didn't have an immediate need for the cash, but it would be nice to have some savings, just in case. After all, he would never know in advance if he needed to replace his armor or even his ship. He didn't want to end up in the same position as his previous partner, needing to catch a ride from someone else. He never liked to live in someone else's debt.

The reward was substantial. He was certainly making his way in the universe. Promises of more work, and more rewards followed, and Fett acknowledged the offers of future contracts with few words. Most people thought him odd, but they were probably right. He was never much of a social man; he was practical. He only did what he absolutely had to.

Unlike his work for the Hutts, Fett was not obligated to stay for any length of time. This wasn't Tatooine, where Hutts ruled everything. This was Coruscant, where everyone had places to go and people to see. Collecting and dashing was expected, and even encouraged. It kept money flowing and kept the flow of business running. He left as soon as he'd gotten paid.

The streets of Coruscant were a very interesting place. In the right places, they could be exotic and exciting, and in the wrong places, they could be equally exciting, but certainly more dangerous. Fett wasn't worried about the danger. He was a skilled fighter, better than almost anyone else. He didn't have to push his way through the crowds. Most people, intimidated by the armor, made room for him to pass. He didn't make himself the center of attention. Instead, he kept his head down and made his way to his ship as quickly as possible.

He trudged up into the cargo hold of his ship. He was hungry and was already thinking about what he wanted to heat up for dinner. Closing the cargo bay door behind him, he pulled off his jetpack and helmet. Something was off about the ship. It wasn't that anything was misplaced, it was just that there was a different smell in the air, one he couldn't quite place. His intuition pinged and told him that there was something wrong. A quick visual scan told him that nothing was in the cargo hold, so he crossed the space to the steps up to the cockpit. As soon as he reached the steps, a gas filled the small space.

Fett had no way of getting away. He coughed his way through the gas. His senses told him that this was just a basic knockout gas. His legs gave way beneath him as the world began to spin. He fumbled with the pouches on his belt, looking for a stim. His vision grew blurry, and he struggled on the floor. He tried supporting his weight on one arm as he struggled with the pouches on his belt, but he felt again and again. His eyes felt heavy and he fell into darkness.

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A/N: Please take a moment to use the lovely box below to leave a review. I'm still giving out treats to all reviewers. I like replying to my reviewers too, so don't be shy!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: You readers, who are annoyingly quiet with your reviews lately, are in luck. I happened to have an abundance of muse today that allowed me to finish Chapter Twelve ahead of schedule.

One thing I forgot to mention in my Author's Notes in the last chapter was that Torscha got a last name! Her last name is Lahiri. I can honestly say that I didn't get this last name from anything. I just made it up. It's not supposed to sound like anything, or be related to anything. It's just her name.

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He awoke to the sound of metallic jingling, the swishing of fabric and footsteps near him. At some point, he had been rolled onto his side, and there was a blanket pulled around him. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and tried to focus. He furrowed his brow in sudden confusion. He was still on his own ship, and he wasn't bound or gagged or otherwise incapacitated, other than the fact that he'd just been asleep. That was rather strange. Most people didn't usually leave drugged people where they lie. Was someone stealing from him? He looked around, trying to find the source of the noises. He was still wearing his armor, though his chest plates had definitely been loosened quite a bit. His weapons, however, had been removed completely.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of bright magenta. "Coruscant was unusually chilly today, I must say that I prefer warm weather. Not that I'm missing Tatooine," said a familiar velvety voice from the direction of the colorful fabric.

The magenta fabric came back in his direction, and the figure wearing it knelt beside him, setting an unopened bottle of water next to him. He looked up into the figure's face. Torscha grinned back at him, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. Boba Fett, on the other hand, was completely and totally horrified.

She'd better not have date-raped him or anything. Then he'd really have to throw her out the airlock.

"How did you get on my ship?" he rasped. He wasn't about to trust the water she'd given him, even if it was still sealed.

She laughed, her voice rich with genuine amusement. "Let's just say I got that upgrade," she replied. "Drink up. It'll make you feel better."

Regaining his senses a bit more, Fett examined the bottle she'd handed to him, much to her amusement, or so it would seem, judging by her laughing. It seemed to be the standard, run-of-the-mill bottle of water. It hadn't been tampered with or anything. Besides, why would Torscha poison him? He didn't think there were any bounties on his head, and if she'd wanted to kill him, she would have done it already. So he uncapped the bottle and took a long drink, keeping his eyes on the trouble-maker who'd snuck onto his ship. Though he had to admit, she had guts for doing it. Her hair was pulled up, with a few stray ends brushing her collarbone. There wasn't a trace of her black eye left, and she didn't look like she'd been in any more brawls since then.

He pulled himself up into a full sitting position, while she stood all the way up, obviously satisfied that she'd gotten him to drink something. She moved to the other side of the cargo bay. Her skirt dragged a few inches behind her, and there was a string of tiny bells around one ankle. Why did a bounty hunter with her reputation dress so outlandishly? Where was Torscha from anyways? Fett didn't particularly care, but couldn't help but be a little bit curious about her downright conflicting lifestyle choices. Maybe she was from one of those rich planets. That would explain the wardrobe. Fett fancied that maybe she had been from a wealthy family, and had become a bounty hunter after being kicked out of the house for one reason or another. Probably for being a whore, Fett mused to himself.

She kept talking. Her back was to him now. She seemed to be doing something, though Fett couldn't see what it was. "I saw you were back on-planet again." She came back from the other side of the cargo hold. "I wasn't busy so I thought we could have dinner." With that she put two steaming plates of food on top of a storage box, right next to him. She sat on the floor on the other side of the box. She grinned, incredibly satisfied with her own brilliance that she had tricked him into this.

He stared at the food. It looked good. It smelled even better. "What's this?" he asked, his voice betraying his suspicion while he was trying to sound indifferent.

"Alderaanian food," Torscha said, taking a bite of hers. "It's good, eat it."

He stared at the plate of food she had given him suspiciously. "Do you drug all of your dates?" he asked irritably, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Only the ones I really like," she replied.

"What do you want?" he asked roughly, staring her straight in the eye.

She pursed her lips, exasperated. "Would you have dinner with me?"

He gave her only a stern look in response, indicating his response was a huge, resounding no.

She sighed heavily. "I got a request for a job," she said finally. She produced her datapad and slid it across the makeshift table to him. Unable to keep from being curious, he accepted it. "Someone apparently admired our work and would like to hire us as a team."

"Who's the client?" he asked, though he was skimming through the information.

"Standard business-owner," she replied, shrugging indifferently. "He wants someone to ensure that politics in the Correllian Sector is swung a certain way, and what better way than by hiring a couple of assassins?"

"And the money?"

"Money's good. We'd get extra because the job's off-planet, and it's a higher-profile job."

"And he requested us?"

"Specifically. Armor makes quite an impression." She took another bite of her dinner. Fett still hadn't touched his.

"So this is just business then," he said, indicating to the dinner plate in front of him.

"Apparently," she replied. "I thought we could have dinner, then maybe move somewhere more… comfortable… and then we'd talk business. Why not kill two mynocks with one stone?"

Had she taken one too many deathsticks or something? She seemed awfully intent on him. Fett regarded her very seriously, trying to figure out what ulterior motive she was hiding. He'd been approached by women before, but usually they gave up quickly and without too much of a fight. Torscha was proving to be a little persistent in her approaches. Okay, a little more than persistent; she had, after all, drugged him with knockout gas in order to corner him into having dinner with her. He did have to admit, it looked and smelled delicious too.

"Go away, Torscha," he said, done with her.

She gave him a little resigned smile. Then she placed a small datachip on the table. "At least think about it. You know how to get in touch with me if you decide to take the job." Then she got up. He didn't move, even when she placed a hand on his shoulder plate, letting it linger for a few moments before exiting through the cargo bay door, slipping a pair of shoes on first. He listened to the bells around her ankles jingle until the door closed.

Once he heard the cargo bay door seal, he leapt to his feet. Though a bit unsteady at first, having had been laid out with knockout gas, he quickly regained his senses. He clumsily grabbed his helmet, jetpack and his weapons. He shrugged his jetpack on, and clipped on his weapons. Cramming on his helmet, he stumbled over to the controls to the cargo bay door, practically tripping over himself in the process. He had to find out what she was up to. There was some greater game, and he needed to know who she was playing for, and why. Her interest in him could not have just been personal. After all, she seemed unnaturally liberal in her attention and inconsistent in it as well. The only conclusion he could possibly draw, albeit from his limited understanding of women, was that she had some other motivation, and that her interest in him was a ruse for something else. But what would anyone want with him?

He'd figure that out later, once he had a few more pieces to the puzzle. If she was reporting to anyone, she would doubtlessly be going to report to them, and if he could find out who she was working for, he could find out what her end game was. Once he was sure that she was out of sight of the Slave I, he opened up the cargo bay door. Not wanting to lose track of her, he broke out in a run towards the landing platform's exit onto the street. He crossed the threshold as stealthily as he could and took a moment to scan the crowd. While she was wearing a rather garish and noticeable color, it was remarkably difficult to spot amongst the exotic crowd of Coruscant's streets. He caught sight of her a distance away and ducked through the crowd to follow her, always making sure to stay a safe distance away.

He imagined that he looked rather ridiculous, trying to follow her without being caught. His efforts were exasperated when she turned down an alleyway. There was no cover for him in there. He bit his lip, calculating his next move. To this point, he assumed that she was unaware of his presence. If he did what he thought he was going to do, then he would alert her to a present danger, but not necessarily to his own presence. It was the path of the lesser amount of risk, so he did it.

He ignited his jetpack, just out of her sight. It only took a few seconds, but he was sent, in a controlled hurtle, two stories into the air. There was a service ramp on the second story of the building that made for a good vantage point. It did leave him in the open if she looked up, but offered a better view of her movements with slightly better cover. As he caught sight of her, he could see that she had turned to look behind her, presumably in reaction to the sound of his jetpack igniting, which had also created something of a stir amongst the crowd. His HUD provided a close-up of her face. As he had already expected, her face betrayed little of her thoughts, and he couldn't get a read on her, though she did appear to express some concern, as she continued with a quicker pace.

She cut through the alley to another busy square. Fett followed her from his elevated vantage point, aware that he might need to use his jetpack again to continue following her. He wasn't a particularly sociable person, and didn't make a habit of knowing a great many people, but Torscha was the most infuriating person he had ever met. She was lustful, deceptive and had made a bad habit of sneaking or conning her way into his personal space. He was not going to pretend to himself that he wasn't the slightest bit interested in her; he was. Even if she was infuriating, she was one of the most intriguing people he'd ever met, and by past experience, he knew that the complicated, dangerous ones were the ones he liked. Of course, he wasn't planning on welcoming or responding to any of her advances; he had his honor.

But there was still going to be something in him that made it impossible for him to not be at least marginally curious about her, and not just her motives. Even though he put it at the very back of his mind, it was still there. For now, he pushed it out again. He would put it on his list of Torscha-created problems to sort out later.

He continued his pursuit, keeping up with her by running along his elevated way. A combination of rooftops, since there were a few short buildings in Coruscant, construction scaffolding and architectural allowances, creating something of a path, but eventually he ran out of a place to step. Luckily the next area Torscha was cutting through was a crowded sort of market, likely a front for a black market effort. Fett half-climbed, but mostly leapt down from his vantage point. He snuck around and through stalls, keeping about twenty feet behind her at all times. Sometimes he lost her in the crowd, but his HUD made it easy to find her again and again.

He increased his distance behind her as she descended a set of steps into a lower level of the city to avoid detection. He got to the bottom in time to see where she had gone. Across the pedestrian walkway was the entrance to a reasonably shabby-looking apartment building, which she entered. Utilizing the options on his HUD, he formed a profile on the building. The tenant list wasn't particularly well-guarded, and he scanned through it quickly. Most of the tenants were unemployed or of the merchant class. He found Torscha, who was listed under her alias of 'Meela' and also listed as being unemployed.

Wait. This was where she lived? Had he just stalked a woman back to her home? Mentally kicking himself, he forced himself to stop his investigation and return to the Slave I, albeit in a less-creative way than he'd left. It was awfully bizarre, but clearly he wasn't going to be able to figure out her game without completely stalking her, and he wasn't willing to do that. It made things too awkward. He'd just have to find out the old-fashioned way.

Definitely feeling a little put-off, he trudged back onto his ship. Either it was because she had outwitted him, or because he'd actually chased her back to her apartment like a pathetic stalker. Either way, it was embarrassing. Closing the door behind him, he shrugged off his jetpack and removed his helmet again. The food she had brought him was still sitting on the box where he had left it, or rather, where she had left it. Half of him wanted to eat it since he was pretty sure it wasn't poisoned and it was free food, and the other half of him wanted to toss it in the incinerator, somewhat out of suspicion, but mostly out of spite He stared at it for a few moments before taking off his weapons, piling them neatly on the floor of the cargo hold.

Giving up, he grabbed the plate and took a cautious bite of some of the meat, which was now lukewarm at best. She was right. It was good.

XXX

After he had eaten, Fett cleaned up the cargo hold. He cleaned up the dishes left behind by the impromptu dinner that he had pseudo-shared with his onetime partner and current antagonist and put away his jetpack, weapons and removed his armor.

Lately, he had been trying to work himself back into prime physical shape. He had lost muscle tone and strength during his hiatus, despite having worked through that time. Now, there was not a lot for him to do, so he was working at restoring his physical shape. He was slowly starting to fill out his armor again, though it would be a few months more before it fit him properly again. That besides, proper muscle conditioning was essential to the life of a bounty hunter. Precise muscle toning and coordination could mean the difference between life and death. His father had taught him that.

Hanging from the ceiling of the cargo hold, he performed a series of chin-ups. During his first stint as a bounty hunter, he had performed these exercises with a nearly obsessive fervor. He had been so focused in his youth, on revenge, on work, and on living up to the legacy his father had left him. For three years, he had occupied himself with trying to have a family life. That had failed rather miserably, and so now he was back. Suddenly, one of his biceps cramped and he let go of the bar. He fell to the floor with a light thud, though he landed on his feet. He sat on the floor, massaging out the sore muscle, frustration lining his face. It was difficult to perform these simple tasks without thinking of his pains. His father, Sintas, Ailyn. All of it came back when he lost focus on keeping it out.

He took deep breaths, trying to expel the unwanted thoughts from his mind. All that pain was a hopeless distraction from his work. It was all too emotional; he did his best to shut emotion out. But it was impossible to shut it out all the time. There were always times like these when it all came back to him. Even now, he still didn't necessarily display his emotion outwardly, but her certainly felt the effects of it. He took a few minutes to put himself back on track.

His exercise completely soured for the day, he decided that he was finished for the evening. Still massaging his sore bicep, he got up off the floor and climbed up into the living quarters. He took a hot shower to sooth his aching muscles, and to wash away the day. He found his mind wander back to his visitor. He couldn't help but wonder what she was doing, what work she had been doing lately and whether or not he should go on another mission with her. Wait. What? Was he really considering this? She was crazy and immoral and not to be trusted.

He shut off the water, wanting to expel her from his mind again. As he put on sleep pants, he resolved to take the middle ground. He would talk to her, try to find out more about the job and what her motives might be.

With that resolved, he climbed up onto the top bunk, his since he was a child. He was asleep in minutes.

He was a helpless child again, watching from his hiding place in the Geonosian arena. He'd had no where to run. Surely his father would fetch him and they would get to safety once this business with the Jedi was concluded. He was ten years old again, and there was no way his father could have lost. Jango Fett was a warrior, a Mandalorian, and there was no way he could be beaten by a Jedi.

He watched, brow furrowed as the fight went increasingly against his father. Jango Fett had underestimated the horned beast. Boba could only watch helplessly as his father tried to ignite his jetpack, which had been hopelessly damaged by the beast's charge. The Jedi with the violet lightsaber got closer and closer, blocking each one of his father's shots before cutting off his father's right blaster, and then, in one swift strike, his head. Boba's mouth fell open and he could feel shock seize his body. He couldn't feel anything, or even move.

The battle raged on in front of him, but there was nothing he could do. He was frozen, unaware of what was really transpiring right in front of him. The clones arrived to fetch the Jedi. Wait. Clones? He had realized it later, that the clones of his father ended up fighting on the side of his father's murderer. As a ten-year old, he had never realized it, but had come to understand the nature of the clone army as he came to be older, though he never openly acknowledged it outside of his dreams.

Eventually the arena cleared, and he was the only living soul left in it. He retrieved his father's helmet, the one he eventually repainted and called his own. He held it in his hands and bowed his head in grief.

That was always where the dream ended.

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A/N: Please take a moment and leave me a review. It doesn't have to be anything fancy, just something to let me know you're out there. How do you like the story so far? And the characters? How do you like how I'm portraying bounty hunters during the Imperial Era? New reviewers (and old reviewers) may get a special insight into some of my plans, though no spoilers, obviously. As well as Mando Ale, because really, we could all use some.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I really hoped I'd get this one up faster, but last week I woke up with a kidney stone! Laying on the floor of an exam room in the ER begging for pain medication really killed just about any will to do anything I had.

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The next day it rained. Because of all the vapors that rose off of Coruscant, rain and thunderstorms were fairly common, but this one lasted all day. For Boba Fett, it reminded him of Kamino, where it never stopped raining. All day, the rain poured down from the unforgiving sky in torrents. Boba Fett, himself had come to have a bit of an awkward feeling about rain, considering the memories it brought back to him. So, for most of the day, he had stayed on his ship.

He cleaned the cargo bay, which essentially amounted to him moving everything around so that it looked a little less chaotic. He maintained his weaponry, even though he probably didn't need to; a bounty hunter was only as good as his preparations. Then he checked the engine . Slave I was an old ship, not so old that she was unusable, but old enough that she needed routine checks. For now, she seemed to be in good working order. Next, he mixed some more fuel for his jetpack. Boba always hated this task. When he was still a boy, his father had taught him how to mix the appropriate fuel for their jetpacks. It was Jango's own special formula, and it came with a warning. Even the slightest mistake in the measurements could cause the jetpack to malfunction or even explode. The warning certainly had worked and Boba still double and triple-checked his measurements before mixing.

Throughout all of these tasks, and even though he tried not to, he thought about Torscha's visit and the idea of working another job with her. It was certainly easy to see the benefit. She was excellent with a vibrosword, and not too bad with a blaster either. She was certainly useful in a scrape and clever as well. After all, she had found her way onto his ship uninvited. To have gotten past his security systems and to have drugged him so easily without him knowing took a great deal of intelligence and guts.

Despite the fact that he had such a strong moral standing on the matter, her presence had stirred some unusual thoughts in him. Despite his morals and despite his wife, he was still a young man, and Torscha was still an attractive woman. He didn't dare allow himself to think any further than that about her. Yes. He would acknowledge that she was attractive and that some manner of… attraction was bound to be inevitable. Shab.

He looked out the cockpit window as he climbed up into the living quarters to shower. The sun was setting. He had to go see her. If she had a job that paid as well as she'd said, then he needed to see her. And if she didn't have a job that paid as well as she'd said, then he needed to see her so that he could tell her to stop sneaking into his personal space and to stop trying to get in his pants. Sighing heavily, and knowing that this conversation wasn't going to go well, he stripped off his clothes and hopped into the refresher for a cold shower.

XXX

All armored up again, he shouldered his way through the streets of Coruscant. This time he had no reason to hide, but made his way discretely nonetheless. Most of the passerby's averted their eyes in deference, or perhaps fear, but a brave few stared curiously. Boba Fett reckoned they were intrigued by the armor, and perhaps even by the fact that it was Mandalorian, if they even knew the difference between a Mandalorian and any fool in armor. Boba didn't know whether or not he could consider himself a Mandalorian or not. His father had been one, and had probably raised him like one. He wasn't fluent in Mando'a by any means. The controls on the Slave I and a few other things were about the extent he could read or understand. For him, the armor didn't symbolize Mandalore as much as it symbolized Jango's legacy, Mandalorian or not.

Regardless, his armor was enough to inspire a stir in the crowd around him. He could hear their whispers behind him, and could see them peering at him behind his back. It gave him a special sort of pride to get such a reaction out of crowds. It occurred to him that since he had left Concord Dawn, Torscha had been the only person who had seen his real face. That was a disturbing thought.

It was still raining, and the city looked especially grim. He found his way with ease back to Torscha's apartment building. He took a moment to examine it again. It was by no means a classy establishment, though not the worst in the city. It certainly didn't look like the kind of place a woman of her appearance would lodge, but was certainly the kind of place a woman of her income would live. Where did all her bounty money go? Surely she had been paid well when she had contracted with the Hutt. Though it occurred to him that she had been saving for a ship. Couldn't she do a little better than this?

From the information he had been able to gather, he knew that she was listed under her alias, and that she was regarded as unemployed. She lived in a one-room apartment on the third floor. Before he even walked in the door of the complex, he turned and walked away. He was halfway across the pedestrian street when he turned back round again. He needed to get all of this out of the way for himself. He paused at the door again, second-guessing himself again. How was it that he could be so cool and collected during a fight, but be completely indecisive when it came to personal matters. It frustrated him to no end.

He let himself into the complex and took the lift up to the third floor. He hesitated again in the lift, not wanting to have to talk to Torscha again. He forced himself out of the lift when it stopped on the third floor and he found his way to her door. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hesitating to knock on her door. Maybe she wouldn't answer. Some bounty hunters didn't answer their doors unless they were expecting someone specifically. Or perhaps she wasn't home. That would be a particularly wonderful outcome. If she wasn't home, maybe he wouldn't have to come back. Maybe he should have just sent her a message over the holonet.

Before he could stop himself, he was knocking on the door. There was no response from the door, but he could certainly hear that someone was inside. It was muffled, but it sounded a bit like a struggle. The security on these buildings were primitive at best, and it would have been easy for anyone to get into her apartment. Was she being robbed? Was it even possible that she was being assaulted? She could certainly defend herself when she was armored and prepared, but could she defend herself when she was unarmored and unprepared?

Before he quite knew what he was doing, he had opened the door and was taking the first two steps into it. And the moment he stepped through that door, he wished he hadn't. It was a one room apartment, and his eyes where immediately drawn to the source of the only noise in the room, sounds that had been muffled through the door. He would have averted his eyes, but he could only stare.

Within seconds, it became abundantly clear that he had just walked in on some of Torscha's… whoring, for lack of a better term. By the time Boba's mind registered what had just happened, her partner, a dark-haired male, was already scrambling off of Torscha and out of bed at the sight of Fett, covering himself with a sheet and fumbling for his clothes. "Sir, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know! She didn't tell me!" the young man sputtered, clearly thinking that this was something else. Boba didn't even notice him; he was staring at her.

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow and not bothering to cover herself at all. Boba allowed himself this one look at her, since she was well worth looking at. She was wearing nothing but a pair of simple earrings. She was still flushed from arousal and still panting from sex. Her hair was messily pulled away from her face, and mussed from the exertion. Regardless, she held herself, even in this vulnerable position, with such a supreme confidence that she could look more like a Goddess from a Naboo painting than a whore in bed. Her eyes were intense, and her lips parted slightly. Boba felt that his mouth was hanging open, and was suddenly that much more grateful for his helmet.

Unlike the two men, Torscha seemed to take the situation much more coolly. "Dah-ling, we have got to stop meeting like this if you're not going to sleep with me," she said frankly, an infinitely devious grin playing on her face. She tossed her head in obvious pride before turning her gaze to her male companion, who was standing frozen, not sure if he should run away as fast as he could, or stay to defend the woman he'd just been making love to. It quickly became clear that he didn't need to. "Get out," Torscha said to him. Then she turned her gaze back to Boba. "I'm trading up." Her voice was still like velvet, but it was ice cold and indifferent, even condescending to her male companion.

Boba stood completely still as the other man scrambled out of the apartment, and Torscha didn't move either. Their gazes remained fixed on each other. Though she wouldn't have been able to see because of his helmet, he broke his gaze first, averting his eyes to the floor. He felt his skin burning with embarrassment under the helmet. He had just walked in on something he really wished he hadn't. While he certainly was no stranger to sexual relations, having been married and having a child, he hadn't really put witnessing it on his lists of things to do that day.

He decided not to let her wits get the upper hand over him. "Sex outside of marriage is immoral, you know," he said matter-of-factly, though his own, gravelly voice was shaking from the pure effort of following his own advice. No matter his beliefs, certain parts of him were straining just from the sight of her.

She laughed. She actually laughed at him. "Not where I come from," she replied, getting up out of bed with her usual catlike grace that certainly leant itself to her skill with a blade. She still hadn't put anything on, though she helpfully crossed her arms over her small, but still distracting, breasts. Even so, his breath hitched. She really was excellently built. She had an athletically thin stature, built more for speed and stealth than for accuracy. He couldn't help but look her up and down again, though he focused more on some places than others. His eyes were caught by a bead of sweat that was making it's way between her…. Woah. Slow down. Eyes back up.

Boba forced himself this time to keep his eyes on her face. "And where is that, exactly?" he asked roughly. This mixture of severe irritation with Torscha, and physical attraction to her were making him angry. His physical wants and his mental and emotional wants were all fighting, and the fact that she was standing right in front of him and still hadn't put any clothes on wasn't making it any better.

"No where you've been," she replied cryptically. "We're alone now. You can take your helmet off." Her voice had softened. Where she had been haughty and condescending just moments before, now she was… something else.

He would not have her see his embarrassment, or have the advantage of being able to tell where his eyes were pointed. His posture stiffened immediately and he took a step back from her. "I prefer to keep it on," he replied shortly.

"Why?" she asked, amusement playing on her voice. She uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips, displaying her chest to its full advantage. "Are you feeling a little exposed?"

He forced his eyes away, looking for something else to look at instead of her. His eye caught her black robe, the same one she had worn on Tatooine, hanging on the back of a chair within arm's length. He grabbed it off the chair and handed it to her, deliberately pointing himself away from her, so that she knew, without a doubt that he wasn't looking at her. He caught her face in his 360-degree vision, and saw her purse her lips in disappointment before wrapping herself in the thin, but at least opaque, robe. "Will you take you helmet off now?" she asked. "I must admit that I don't really like talking to helmets."

"But you wear one," Boba replied, matter-of-factly.

"Indeed," she said simply, providing no explanation or rationale.

Sighing heavily, he took his helmet and cowl off. She grinned. "What?" Boba asked defensively.

"I got you out of your helmet again."

"I thought we were going to discuss business."

"Fine. Sit down. I'll get my datapad." Then she crossed to the furthest corner of the room and rummaged through a bag. "Would you like some tea, or anything?"

"No." Boba remained standing. He didn't feel comfortable here. He'd already taken his helmet off. He wasn't going to submit to her any more. Now that she was covered at least, he settled down a little bit. He took these few moments, while she wasn't looking, to focus on calming himself.

She returned a moment later and sat down on the sofa on one side of the room. She crossed her legs, unhelpfully exposing one leg. Why was she like this? What had possibly possessed her that made her so sexual? The unhealthy amount of time he'd already spent with her alluded to a few possibilities. The most likely, in his extremely biased opinion, was that she was somehow unstable. Then again, most bounty hunters were unstable to a point, and they all had their behaviors that they used either to cope or to escape. Boba was personally obsessive-compulsive about his ship and his equipment, and had become extremely anti-social. He never called this a coping device when referring to himself though. When he referred to himself, it was simply his personality. Torscha, he imagined, engaged in frequent sexual behavior as a means of getting away from something. All bounty hunters were running from something; Boba knew that much. No one became a bounty hunter simply because they wanted to; they became bounty hunters because they had no choice.

"So," she began, absently scanning her datapad. "Our client will be the owner of a large corporate conglomerate here on Coruscant that makes it's business with the imported goods of Coruscant. The target the client wants eliminated is a political figure on Correllia."

"Pay?"

"Don't you want to know why they want this person killed?"

"No."

"That's what I like to hear. Honestly, the less we know on this one, the better."

"What's the pay?"

"Fifty. Each."

"One-hundred thousand credits, just for one man. Must be important."

"Well Fett, do you want it?"

"We'll leave for Correllia as soon as you're ready."

XXX

Torscha was ready to leave the next morning. Boba had assumed that she would have taken longer, but then realized that all she owned fit in three trunks. Like she had during the voyage from Tatooine to Coruscant, she set herself up in the cargo hold. Correllia was close, and the journey wouldn't take more than a few hours, but it was likely that they would be on-planet for at least a day or two, depending on their target.

He had to admit, he felt a little awkward making her sleep in the cargo hold now. They had already travelled together once, though that had been under somewhat different circumstances and making her sleep in the cargo hold had been completely reasonable. However, he was not going to compromise his anonymity any further, and besides, he did not want her sleeping anywhere near him. Giving her access to where he slept felt like it was just asking for trouble.

Once everything was tied down and all their affairs on-planet were squared away, Torscha plopped unceremoniously into the co-pilot's chair and strapped herself in. Boba was already making the preparations for launch in the pilot's chair. "ETA?" she asked, simply.

He gave her a look that he hoped told her exactly how ridiculous he thought she was. "I won't know until I actually engage the hyperdrive," he said, exasperated as ever.

She grinned.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"Nothing," she replied.

"If you're going to be like this again, I'm going to open the airlock while you're sleeping," Boba said after a few moments, just as Slave I lifted off of the landing platform.

"You wouldn't."

"Yes. I would."

"Then why did you let me on your ship again?"

He stopped short, completely dumbstruck. She seemed to know his emotions better than he did. Though truthfully, he didn't now why he'd let her on his ship again. As far as he knew, this was the third time she had been on Slave I, and as far as Boba was concerned, that was three times too many. But he hadn't been able to just say no. She was so… convincing and… articulate. It was getting more confusing as his feelings collided in a messy flood of conflicting emotion. Consciously, he had decided that he didn't like her, but at the same time, there was something about her that made him unable to completely remove her from his life.

He engaged the hyperdrive and they were hurtling through the tunnels of space en route to Correllia. "ETA is approximately four to five hours, depending on traffic in hyperspace," Boba supplied.

"Good," she replied. "You got a plan?"

"No, but I'm sure we're about to form one."

"You're better at this than you think, Fett."

"I don't know about that…. What's your last name?"

"Lahiri."

* * *

A/N: And Torscha gets cockblocked again... Poor girl just can't catch a break.

Yeah. That happened. If it hasn't been completely established, allow me to reiterate... Torscha is really slutty. Though I will tell you that this is probably about as bad as it's going to get for a good while, at least that's how I've planned it. I'm open to criticism though. If you don't feel comfortable making a suggestion or asking a question in a review, please PM me. I love feedback of all kinds, or even just a hello. I know more of you are reading than are reviewing, because I can see it in 's lovely tools.

Next time, we'll see our two hunters completing their second job together, in which we'll get to see more of their skills and abilities. I have a tendency to write in short arcs instead of in one straight line of plot, so bear with me as we begin to start sinking into the big pit of quicksand that is the plot I've been developing.

As always, please review. I really do appreciate it more than I can express in these little Author's Notes. Okay... they're rather long Author's Notes. I'm rather chatty all the time.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: My grandmother passed away shortly after I started writing this chapter, hence the delays in getting it out. The finished product is a mix of several versions of the scenes that I wanted taking place. The chapter ended up being quite long, but somewhat rambly in places, which is not atypical of my writing.

Writing gave me such an escape from the madness that was going on around me in the past several days, so I'm thankful that I had this to work on. This is definitely a section I want to edit someday, so please leave me some constructive feedback.

And if you're grandparents are still living, give them a call and let them know that you love them.

* * *

The problem with a job like this was always finding the target. Once the target was found, there was usually no trouble in taking them out of the picture. A simple sniper shot or a thermal detonator usually got the job done cleanly, particularly for a bounty hunter of Boba Fett's skill. The trouble was primarily that it was so hard to find these kinds of targets without having some kind of an in with their people. This target was a political target, but predicting their whereabouts in time for a clean kill was difficult. The client, not surprisingly, wanted this job done cleanly, with no loose ends and no pandemonium. He wanted the job done in private, where there would be no witnesses.

He and Torscha spent the first hour or so of the journey coming up with some semblance of a plan. As he had always assumed, she was an infiltrator, which was one of the reasons why they had been particularly hired to go on this job together, as opposed to one or the other. Without much debate, they had decided that she would have to put her infiltration skills to good use to find the when and where for the job. Boba would do the particularly dirty work of the actual killing, but she would do the hard part of it. He leaned back in his chair in the cockpit, where they had stayed for their conversation. An awkward silence fell over the two. Boba stared blankly at a spot on the floor. Shab. Next time he was cleaning the ship he would have to mop the floor up here. There was still dried mud from the Byss job.

Glancing over at her, he noticed that she was in a similar state of distraction, staring blankly ahead but at nothing in particular. "How long until we're planetside?" she asked quietly.

Boba absently glanced over the displays. "A few hours," he replied.

She nodded. "Then I'll get ready," she replied, very business-like. "Can I use your shower?"

"Yeah. I don't care."

"Thank you." Then she got up and went about her business.

Boba stayed where he was, absently dusting off the panels. When had they gotten so filthy? He wasn't wearing armor, since Torscha had come to the ship that morning. He was just wearing a simple blue tunic and pants, standard garb for any man of his stature travelling the galaxy. Obsessively, he grabbed a rag and cleaning fluid from a cabinet off to the side and cleaned the displays so that they were free of dust. He was still cleaning when Torscha came back from showering. She was running a comb through her long hair. When he caught sight of her reflection in one of the displays, he turned to look at her, mortified that she had caught him cleaning.

She was standing, frozen in mid-motion, staring. She blinked a few times, confusion muddling her expression. "Well… I honestly didn't expect a hunter of your reputation to be so… neat and organized. Your whole ship is rather immaculate."

"It's just… the monitors were all dusty…" he explained. "I like a clean ship is all."

She smiled. "I've never seen a ship quite like this one before. She's older than we are, isn't she?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Because she was built to last. They don't build them like this anymore." Without another word, she disappeared back down into the cargo hold.

He grunted in response. She was right.

XXX

"Nice landing," squeaked Torscha.

"It's not my fault the local dock authority changes their docking protocols every other day," Boba defended.

Slave I had gotten rather jostled on the entry into Corellia's atmosphere. It seems that Coronet's docking protocols had been changed yet again and that they had entered the planet in a no-docking zone. They had been chased down by the dock authority which had threatened them with a fine and possible ship impoundment if they did not switch course to a new landing platform immediately. Boba Fett had barely been able to switch the controls in time and was pretty sure he'd grazed the side of an adjacent landing platform when he'd changed course. Shab. Slave I was going to need another paint job.

Further, he'd almost crashed and hadn't been fully even when he'd engaged the landing sequence. Something was going to need fixing. All the better that he and his partner get this job done quickly. Repairs and parts were not cheap, and Slave I had enough imminent issues without messy landings.

He glanced at Torscha as he powered down the engines of the ship. She was positively white, and was still gripping the arm rests of the co-pilot's chair. She took a deep breath and let go of the chair, knuckles white. "Well," she said. "It looks like it's about midday, so I guess I'll get to work. I'll have my communicator in case there's an emergency, and I'll let you know when I find some useful information."

She got up and disappeared down the steps into the cargo hold. Boba followed her, feeling somewhat useless and apprehensive about letting her be in-control. She was wearing navy with gold trimmings, though he doubted they were real gold. She was standing at her cases, from which she took a small, concealable pistol. She slipped this into her top, which ended at her ribcage. Also from the case, she pulled a small knife. She was very focused on what she was doing, and only glanced in his direction. If he understood anything about infiltrators, she was 'getting into character'. No doubt she had some false identity that she would be operating under.

"Do you have a plan?" Boba asked as he observed her.

"Yes," she replied simply. "I'm going to look for a way to meet our dear candidate, and I'll go from there."

"That's all?"

"Well I don't know what kind of man he is yet. Once I've met him, I can figure out how to get him alone so that you can finish the job." As she did this she hiked her dress up past her knee and strapped the knife to her calf.

"Fair enough."

"I'll call you." She pinned a long, matching veil onto her head. "I just have to find out how to get to our target first. If I'm not back by midnight, get off-planet as fast as you can." With finality, she pulled the veil down so it covered her eyes. She made eye contact with him, and Boba looked her up and down. She certainly didn't look like a hunter; if he didn't know any better, he would have taken her for a courtesan. Without another word, she left the ship.

He watched her go, closing the cargo bay door behind her. He was beginning to think that perhaps coming on another job with her had been a mistake. Things were already awkward, and making them less-awkward would probably require breaking one of his cardinal rules. He had seen her without any clothes on twice now, and not breaking one of his cardinal rules was only going to get more difficult. Boba Fett was stronger than most, but even he would break down eventually. He was mildly surprised that she hadn't tried anything on him this time. She had been all business so far. It was like she wasn't herself.

He wished he had never met her.

XXX

Torscha Lahiri watched the swirling colors of Corellian high society from her place in the shadowy corner of the room. She had managed, with all her skills, to infiltrate a party that she was sure her target would be attending. Because of her partner and his… exposure issues, she was working the party alone. So much, the better. She was better off working a job like this alone. Women alone were perceived as vulnerable and naïve, the perfect way to lure in unsuspecting male targets.

She watched her target, a tall, thin man by the name of Jorah Dorel, from across the room. Though she stood across the room from her completely oblivious target, now was not the time and place for a murder. There were too many witnesses, a ridiculous amount of security, and far too few escape routes. Besides, she was here on strictly-observational business for now. She needed an in with the target, some way to get him alone.

During her initial wanderings that afternoon, Torscha had found out about a party, a fundraiser, that her target was going to be at. While parties usually had decent security, they were easy to sneak into, especially for girls like Torscha, who infiltrated for a living. She may not have had an invitation, but she knew that every ballroom had a back door, or guests who were desperate for a date to make them look respectable. Once she'd found out about this event, she had run straight back to the Slave I, deposited her weapons and briefed her partner. He hadn't had a lot to say. He was like that, mostly responding simply and shortly.

Torscha had personally chosen the back door approach. She didn't have time to have to pay attention to anyone other than her target. She had lurked on the edge of the floor for at least half an hour now. Her target was greeting all of his donors, and she was waiting for him to have a free moment. She was still wearing the navy, though she had pulled the veil away from her face. She didn't particularly stand out. Really, she could have been anyone, an ambassador's assistant from another planet, perhaps, or a business tycoon's daughter wearing a new designer. Her stomach growled.

She realized that she hadn't eaten since the morning. She had eaten breakfast before she'd left Coruscant. It was the last of the food she had in the crappy apartment she was leaving. Moving with dignity that was far above her pay grade, she crept over to the buffet table. There were fruits she had never seen before and that she'd never tried, and they had her favourites. She took a few fruits from the table and nibbled at them as she stared out at the swirling colors once more.

This was what she had once been used to. She had been used to a colorful word of glitter and parties. It had been a long time, six years really, and even though she knew that she was blending in perfectly, she felt wrong. Sometimes she still missed the life she'd had to leave, though she'd never admit it. She looked around wistfully, suddenly noting in alarm that her target had moved, and that he was no longer

"Excuse me, I don't think we've been introduced," said a voice from one side.

Torscha shook herself out of her thoughts. "Pardon?" she asked, looking to the source of the voice. It was the target. Her stomach churned, as it always did just before a performance.

"I said that I don't think we've been introduced," Jorah repeated.

"Oh no, we haven't," Torscha replied, grinning. "My name is Torscha Carpelle." She used a false last name, though her real first name. The likelihood that anyone was going to remember her name after tonight was slim enough that she need not worry about being remembered.

"Jorah Doren, though I'm sure you new that," he replied, grinning back at her. "Is this your first event, Miss Carpelle?"

"Oh yes," she said, playing dumb.

"Well I shall have to educate you. Care to dance?" He extended one hand to her, like a true member of Corellian high society.

Luckily, Torscha was well-prepared for this. Bounty hunting by infiltration frequently had called for her to blend in with echelons of society that she didn't exactly belong to. In fact, it _always_ did. But she was good at it, probably one of the best, though she wasn't taking bets on it. She put her hand in her target's and joined him in on the floor, attracting the eyes of many, but the suspicion of none. As far as any of the spectators were concerned, she was nothing but the flavor of the night. Torscha always hated playing the stupid girl, but it was good armor.

As she danced with the man she was going to trap and kill, he pointed out his various political allies to her, and she smiled an nodded as if she cared. The truth was that she didn't care. Regimes could rise and fall in a day, and in the end, no one in this room would matter. No one would remember their names, and they would all eventually die and be forgotten. And if Torscha could make some money off of it, she was happy. Whatever this man wanted, or whatever plans he had, none of it mattered to her. Business was business, and her business was to make sure that he met a swift, clean end.

This wasn't to say that she didn't feel a little guilt that the perfectly normal man who was acting like such a gentleman to her didn't have long in this world. He seemed to be a perfectly alright person, but he'd gotten on someone's bad side, and that person wanted him removed from the equation as a result, and they were willing to pay. Whatever there was, she crammed it away to the back of her mind, a place that was now becoming full. She would deal with those emotions later, when she had time for them. For now, they served no practical purpose.

She stayed near him for the remainder of the party. He introduced her here and there, but mostly kept her at his side like a trophy. Torscha minded, but she was used to it. For years, she had been considered as nothing but a trophy, the possession of Torsch and his agent. Even if she wasn't bound to him by law, she was by custom. Of course, that had been back when she and the Red Warrior had been different people. Now that the fact that she was the Red Warrior was common knowledge, she no longer had the security that it had provided. The few clients who'd even agreed to see her had looked down upon her for being a woman, even though she'd proved herself dozens of times over. They assumed that, since she was unattached, they might enjoy certain _benefits_. Sometimes that was alright; she usually wanted some just as much as they did. But when it wasn't alright, she usually wasn't hired again. The worst was when clients offered to pay her for sex.

Still, she gritted her teeth and played dumb in the company of her latest target. She did not interrupt when she had an opinion to assert, and didn't complain when the men talked across her as if she were nothing more than a child. She smiled and nodded and tried to look attentive, though not intelligent. Torscha was small in stature, which had always been something of a problem when she'd masqueraded as a man, and Jorah towered over her. She was on edge all night, worried that someone would recognize her, or suspect her, or approach her for sex, and, worst of all, that she wouldn't be able to say no.

She downed a glass of champagne and carried on.

XXX

Boba was still cleaning when he heard Slave I ping. Since Torscha had left, he'd cleaned the floor of the cockpit, reorganized the cargo hold, yet again, and done his laundry, because even bounty hunters had to do laundry. Torscha had come back briefly in the late afternoon, rambling on that she had some plan or another in mind. He didn't want to know where she was going, or what she had to do to get that information. He had his assumptions, but he didn't dwell on them. He'd already seen enough of his partner, it wasn't going to do any good to dwell on it any more.

_"Don't wait up for me, dahling,"_ she'd said as she'd ducked out of the ship again. He scoffed at the thought.

He stopped what he was doing when he heard the ship ping. He'd set it to ping once if someone approached, twice if it was his partner. He waited for just an instant to hear the second ping, and opened up the cargo bay door when he heard it. Torscha trudged in. It was late and she looked tired, though not beaten up like she had that time on Coruscant, when she'd come back with a black eye and claiming that she'd been sucker punched. Boba still didn't believe her.

"I told you not to wait up for me," she said as the door whooshed closed behind her.

"I didn't," Boba replied. "I was cleaning."

She gave him a long, hard look. "Anywayyyy," she said, changing the subject. "New plan. We're not getting the target alone."

"We're not?" Boba replied, suspiciously.

"No. He'll be with me. He… uhhh… he took a fancy to me at this evening's festivities and has asked me to the opera. So I'll go to the opera, and after, I'll get him alone, and you can… do what you do." She crossed the cargo hold and sat down on her little cot as she spoke.

"When?"

"Two days."

"Two days!?"

"Yes. It would be improper for him to be out with me two evenings in a row after we've only just been introduced."

"_Improper._"

"Yes. This is Corellian high society we're talking about, not some swoop racers in a Cantina."

"But two days?"

"Do you have a better plan?"

Honestly, he didn't. Then again, he didn't have much of any information. He mentally kicked himself as a reminder that this was why he never relied on others for anything. He shouldn't have even let this woman on his ship the first time, and now here she was again, taking advantage of him, using him to get jobs. What would his father have thought? Boba thought about that for a few moments, staring blankly at the wall. Jango had worked with Zam, and Zam had been just as witty and snarky as Torscha. But Jango had killed Zam in the end. Boba shuddered to think of how he'd felt when his father had told him what had happened to Zam.

He was drawn from his thoughts when Torscha spoke again. "Have you eaten?" she asked. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"No," he admitted.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Right, well, I'm not particularly hungry either, but I was going to have a drink. Care to join me?" She held out a bottle, clearly filled with some sort of alcoholic beverage. Boba eyed the bottle carefully for a few moments before taking it from her reluctantly. A drink actually sounded almost nice right about now. He was wound up tighter than the compression coil on a Star Destroyer. Besides, what could it hurt?

Torscha took a second bottle out of her suitcase for herself and both hunters popped off the caps in silence. Boba examined the beverage again. It was some form of beer, though it wasn't a type he'd had before.

"It's not going to bite you," Torscha insisted, taking a long drink from her own bottle.

Boba conceded and drank, then settled himself down on one of the crates in the cargo hold, the same one that Torscha had used as a table only a few days earlier. The two drank in silence for a few minutes, each getting about a third of the way through their drinks before so much as making eye contact. Boba was never much of a drinker, though he had enjoyed an ale every once in a while. He imagined that, given her lifestyle, Torscha probably had a significantly higher tolerance for the stuff than he did.

He stole a glance at her. She did look tired, and frustrated too. He had imagined that she was downplaying her career troubles since the incident on Tatooine, and figured that she was probably at a loss for what to do. He wondered if something had happened to her while she was out that had put her in a mood like this. He told himself that he was only interested from a professional standpoint. This whole thing of telling himself things was starting to get a little old.

"So where are you from anyways?" he asked casually.

"Nar Shaddaa," she returned. "But my mother was from a little planet called Antissa."

"Never heard of it."

"Not many have. It's a tiny planet in the middle of nowhere. I've never actually been there."

"Oh."

She had fallen weirdly silent. Boba knew this was strange, since usually she was rather talkative. He wasn't, but she had gotten him to talk more to her than he had to anyone else in the past few months. He wasn't inclined to say much more to her, but he did note that the subject of her origins was a sore subject, though there were millions of reasons why that could have been. He had suspected that Torscha was more complicated than she let on, though all bounty hunters were. He wasn't going to speculate about her any more than he already had. Thinking about her was just going to lead to more trouble anyway.

He was already in a dangerous place in his feelings towards her. The emotions he felt towards her were nothing affectionate or decidedly amiable as much as they were seated in a desire to just see what would happen. But it was too soon, much too soon. He didn't think he was ready to try anything more than a commonplace acquaintance again yet, or even if he'd ever be ready. That was barring the fact that he was already married to someone else, despite the fact that he was pretty sure that person didn't want to see him again any time soon. Still, he was dangerously close to wanting something he couldn't have. It wasn't the woman herself he wanted as much as just the idea of not being alone. Just having Torscha sitting across the cargo hold from him was bringing all of these thoughts to the surface.

But it was worse than even that. When he had walked in on her the day before, he hadn't had the reaction he'd wanted himself to have. As he'd laid in his bunk later that night, he'd analyzed what had happened. He had stood and stared at her. He should have looked away right away. He should have just left and come back later. He realized that he couldn't get the image of her laying across her bed out of his head. Even worse, he realized that he was actually slightly angry that he had found her enjoying someone else.

"Why bounty hunting?" she asked suddenly.

"Nothing else. I… I tried, but this is just what I'm good at."

"Seems that way for most of us."

"And yourself?"

"The same. We have a pretty specific skill set."

"But we're very good at it."

"I'll drink to that."

And she did.

* * *

A/N: My favourite image from this chapter is of Boba Fett doing his laundry. Everyone's gotta do it.

I also figured that because I hand out alcohol to my readers, I should let our hunters have some too. Seriously though, Torscha usually possesses some form of alcohol, and decided that it was high time she shared. And Boba... he's getting a little tired of always evading her. I just liked the image of the two of them just sharing a drink in silence, because they can. They haven't graduated to actually having dinner yet. Maybe a few more years in the Slave I will cool things off.

Next Chapter, we'll get through those two days, and then Torscha will be making her trip to the Opera. Wonder what hydrospanners I can throw at them this time...

Please take a moment and leave me a review. I would really appreciate some constructive criticism on this chapter in particular.


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